Child's Play
by AWill99
Summary: Bluebell has known and worked with Sherlock Holmes for five years. She's in love with the man but knows that he doesn't feel the same about her. She's accepted it, though, and stays beside him as his friend and partner, unwilling to give either up. Along comes John Watson. He notices in Blu the one thing that Sherlock is too blind to realize. Can he help Sherlock see her love?
1. Chapter 1: Flatmates

Here we were. Once again in the morgue. God I hated this place. It's so creepy...and dead. Not sure why I follow that man almost everywhere he goes. What if zombies one day exist and I end up trailing after him to the morgue? We'd be screwed. They'd kill us all, though I'd probably kill that man first for even bringing us here to start off with before the zombies get the chance to harm him in any way.

Speaking of zombies, would I laugh if I had to watch his body get eaten by zombies? It'd be quite the sight. That is until they all turn on me and kill/eat me. Not sure why they'd want me, though. I'm just skin and bones. Nothing yummy about me whatsoever. Just all yuck.

Sherlock Holmes...death by Bluebell. An interesting way to go, if I say so myself.

_Ziiippp!_

I stuck out my tongue in disgust as Sherlock unzipped the bag of the dead body that was before him on the table. I best find out what he actually plans to do with it. There may be a test later. Curse me in never remembering to ask before I blindly follow.

I brought my eyes up from my iPod to see Sherlock sniff. "How fresh?"

"Just in," My eyes roamed about until I spotted Molly Hooper walking around the table. "Sixty-seven natural causes. Used to work here. I knew him." Molly smiled. "He was nice."

"Good looking?" I asked.

She didn't look at me. "Just nice. Why?"

"Ah. Course. Only curious, Molly. Nice is good, though."

"Fine." Sherlock said, sounding uninterested in the conversation. He zipped the bag shut and stood up straight. He turned to stare at Molly and gave her a grin. "We'll start with the riding crop."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to go and get a cup of coffee then," I muttered.

Instantly I knew what he was going to do with the riding crop. I didn't need to be here when he beat dead body up. I don't care if he had a good reason or not. Still didn't want to make me watch him do it. It makes me feel a little green just at the mere thought.

I pushed myself away from the wall and turned up my music as I exited the room. I skipped a bit while I made my way towards the cafeteria. My glasses continually slid down my nose, a fact that Sherlock always liked to point out because they were much to big for my face, but I just kept on pushing them back up in front of my eyes. Who really cares if they were too big? I didn't even want them anyway. I felt like a nerd or a geek. I only even got them because Sherlock made a small comment to my aunt about my vision and she forced me to get my eyes checked. Worse day of my life. Took everything in me to not strangle the detective.

As soon as I passed through the open doors leading to the cafeteria, I grinned and waved at the other person in the room who was getting a bit of coffee. He smiled over at me and held out a cup. I nodded back and quickly turned off and put away my iPod. I then eagerly walked to him and accepted the small cup. With a smile, I brought the coffee up to my nose and took in a whiff. I sighed in bliss at the scent.

"So how you doing, Jim?" I asked him whilst taking a sip. My smile widened at the taste it left on my tongue. Instantly I put the cup down and started to make a second one. This one being all black with two sugars. Had to make one for Sherlock. I just knew he wanted one even if he didn't put it into words. Who knows what would happen if he didn't have me after so many years of us being together. Not sure how he managed before. He's just so lazy at times.

"Good, good," he grinned. "Here with your friend again?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Not sure why I'm actually with him. But, eh." I gave a shrug.

Jim laughed and took a sip of his own coffee. "You'll have to introduce me sometime."

I waved him off. "And lose you as a friend? Fat chance. He'd ruin everything and then I'd hate his guts, despite the fact I have a crush on him. Now that would be a strange relationship. _Awkward!_"

"Quite positive they call those love-hate relationships."

My eyes widened. "Really? Huh." I grew thoughtful. "Still don't think I want one, though."

He laughed. "When you gonna tell him?"

I snorted as I finished up Sherlock's coffee. I then took a long gulp of my own. When I brought it down and placed it on the table, Jim gave me a raised eyebrow. I wiped what coffee there was on my lips and stared back at him. I matched his raised eyebrow.

"Tell him what?"

"Your feelings."

"And what? Get shot down? No thank you. I like things the way they are. He's one of my best mates. I'm not quite sure what I'd do if I lost him."

"Five years isn't a long time," Jim pointed out.

I rolled my eyes. "I've only known you for one month and already you know of my crush on the sociopath. Still not sure why I told you, though. Huh."

Before I really had the chance to think about it, my phone buzzed and I hurriedly pulled it out. I checked the screen and saw I had a text, though it was an unknown number. I gave a sigh. It must be Sherlock. Had to be. I had only been gone not even ten minutes. It better be important if he was texting me through someone else's phone.

Jim nodded towards my phone. "That your boyfriend now?"

I sighed. "Why does everyone say that?"

"What?"

"They all call me his girlfriend or him my boyfriend."

"Because you're the only woman alive who we ever see with him," Jim explained. I rolled my eyes. Just because I did like the man didn't mean I wanted people to say such things about us when it obviously wasn't true. It's always so embarrassing. My aunt even asked me once because she heard it from a friend of hers who works at Scotland Yard! "But what's the text say?"

I glanced down at my phone again. "He says 'Come upstairs and meet the new flatmate. SH.'" I went to put it away but I quickly looked at the text again. Jim gave me an amused look as I started to jump up and down excitedly. "He's got a flatmate? That's great! It means I can move in straight away! Christmas has come early this year!"

"You really think moving in with Sherlock is a good idea?" Jim asked.

I shrugged and finished what was left of my coffee, putting away my phone as I did so. "It gets me out of living with my aunt. Besides, it'll mean I'll be right there with him for the next case. I won't be constantly coming over by cab or bike."

Jim sighed. "You follow him around like a lost puppy."

I picked up the other coffee for Sherlock and barked back in answer. He laughed as I went to leave the room...and almost ran into Molly. I grinned at the girl, but she didn't return it. She appeared a bit distracted. I cocked my head a bit as she continuously rubbed the back of her hand against her lips, obviously trying to get something off.

"Hello, Molly," I said to her.

Molly nodded at the coffee. "Took you quite a bit to get that, didn't it?"

I looked at it. "Oh, this?" I shook my head and stepped around her. "It's not mine. This one's for Sherlock. Black and two sugars just the way he likes it."

She blinked at me. "You got him coffee?"

I nodded. "Yeah. He doesn't say it, but I know he wants some whenever I get any for myself." I then gasped. "You didn't want me to get you some too, did you? Is that why you came down here?" I asked her. I growled and started to mutter at myself. "Of course that's why she's here. Why else would she be here? How can you be so stupid, Blu? Just because you don't ask Sherlock doesn't mean you should be rude to others. Show some manners."

Molly stared at me before awkwardly laughing. I raised an eyebrow. She then waved her hand at me several times. "It's all right, Blu. I...I just came down to tell you that Sherlock is upstairs. I don't need coffee. I'm not even thirsty."

"Oh, well in that case, thank you for caring," I laughed as well. "Unfortunately I already knew that, though, since Sherlock texted me, so I'm sorry for taking a few minutes out of your schedule. You must be so busy working here."

She forced a smile. "It's fine."

I nodded. "I'll be seeing you then, Molly."

I waited for her to nod back before beginning my journey down the halls and up the stairs. I was now on my daily quest to find Sherlock. Yes, quest. It's a mystery in itself just to locate the man sometimes. Wish he would be a bit more specific when he tells me to meet him upstairs. He acts so sure that I know where 'upstairs' is. Don't get me wrong. I do know where he is talking about, I just wish he wouldn't take if for granted that I did know. One day he might be in a room that I've never been in before, so obviously I wouldn't know where to begin looking.

When I got to the room that Sherlock was in, I glanced through the glass and spotted Mike Stamdford and another man in the room. He was short, well at least to Sherlock and me, and had cropped dirty blonde hair. His hair instantly reminded me of the people who serve in the military. I squinted a bit at him when I saw that in his right hand he held a cane. He leaned upon it for support as he watched Sherlock who held the man's phone with both hands, texting away. I wonder why he's got that? If he actually was from the military...had he been wounded somehow? And then Sherlock... What was he doing with the man's phone when he had his own?

"Ah, Blu!" Sherlock said as I pushed open the door with my side. He gave the man back his phone. "Coffee. Thank you!"

I nodded as I handed over the cup. "Aren't you just lucky that I thought of you," I teased with a grin.

He turned with the cup in hand back to the microscope where he must have originally been working. "I knew you'd get me a cup so I didn't bother to ask."

I waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. You say that every time." I then turned to the new man and gave a smile. I stuck out my hand and he shook it. "Sorry. Where are my manners? Sheesh. That's twice today. My name's Bluebell Lavender. Please, though, call me Blu."

"John Watson," the other man told me. "Hello."

"Hello." When I heard Sherlock's mug slam down on the table, I turned back to him and walked over. I frowned down at what he was doing, not quite sure what it was. Really, really, _really_ hope there wasn't a test about this. "So...saw the text." I said awkwardly. I started to rock back and forth on the balls of my feet. "This him then, Sherlock?"

"Correct," he said, his eyes remaining down on the microscope. He then glanced out of his corner of his eye over at the potential flatmate. "How do you feel about the violin?" he asked, directing his question towards John.

John seemed not to realize we were talking to him until he saw the looks that Mike and I gave him. "Sorry. What?"

"I play the violin when I'm thinking, sometimes I don't talk for days on end."

I sighed. "I've experienced that side of him before. Quite bothersome. It's pretty much the main reason I take my iPod with me everywhere. Need something to occupy me or I'd go," I brought my hand up next to my head and pointed my index finger at my skull. I then twirled it in a circle and whistled, "cuckoo."

"Ignore her." Sherlock turned to stare at John to get his opinion. "Will that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He gave a forced smile.

John glanced over at Mike, Sherlock and me, and then back at Mike. "You...you told him about me?"

Mike shook his head. In his hands he held a tube of some sort of red liquid. Not quite sure what he was planning to do with the thing. Really hope he doesn't drop it. That'd be bad, especially if it was blood. "Not a word."

John returned his attention to us. "Then who said anything about flatmates?"

"I did," Sherlock answered. He began to pull on his dark coat. "I told Mike this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan." I handed the man his scarf and he accepted it before tying it around his neck. "Wasn't a difficult leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asked.

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London." Sherlock picked up his phone and I trailed after him as he started to make his way towards the door. "Together we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o'clock." When I gave him a little nudge he added on, "Ah, yes. Blu will be staying with us as well. I'll be paying for her, seeing as she doesn't have the money." I grinned at John, who still seemed lost on what was happening so quickly. "Ah, sorry. Gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."

"Bye, John," I said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "See you tomorrow."

As I followed behind Sherlock, John said, "Is that it?"

We both turned to look at him. "Is that what?" Sherlock asked. He stepped away from the door and stood before John.

"We only just met and we're going to go and look at a flat," John stated. His eyes flickered over to me and back at Sherlock. "And there's two of you. Boy _and_ girl."

Sherlock and I exchanged glances. "Problem?" we asked John.

I came up next to the detective and crossed my arms. I grinned a little as I tilted my head a bit at John. I liked this guy already. There was just something about him that was intriguing. It was great how he was able to just speak his mind and ask questions. Maybe the fact, as Sherlock pointed out, that he served in the war in Afghanistan helped a bit as well? Hmm. Perhaps. Not sure, though.

"We don't know a thing about each other," John started. "I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name." When he said 'your' he gave Sherlock the look.

I rolled my eyes. "Should've known he be rude and not introduce himself. Every time. Every time!" I looked up at the man. "You had one job. Just one." I lifted up my index finger and poked him in the chest. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "_Uno!_"

Sherlock shook his head a bit at me before returning his attention to John. I bit my lip since I knew what was to happen next. The detective stared John down as he quickly started one of his many deductions. "I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he's recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid." John glanced down at his leg at the mention of the word limp. I sighed and awkwardly averted my eyes. "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?"

"Sorry," I murmured to John as Sherlock stepped back towards the door. It gave off a loud creak as he opened it. "He does that...a lot. Sometimes it can't be helped. It just comes out."

I gave John what felt like a reassuring smile and stepped back to stand beside the detective. I pulled my iPod out of my pocket and plugged in one of the earbuds. I fiddled with it as I turned it on and got one of my favorite songs playing. I swayed a bit to the beat, keeping my eyes downcast so I didn't have to stare up at John.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street," Sherlock added on, staring over at John. His body was half in the room and half in the hallway. He gave a click of his tongue and winked at the man. Sherlock then looked over at Mike. "Afternoon." Mike waved back just as Sherlock exited the room. "Come along, Blu."

I gave Mike a nod and then John one. "Have a good day, fellas," I told them, quickly dashing after the taller man. "Sherlock! Sherlock, wait! Stop walking so fast! Your legs are longer than mine! SHERLOCK!"

* * *

**There. First chapter. *wipes sweat from brow* First chapters always suck, haha. There's nothing really ever in them except to establish a few minor things. **

**As you can see, it follows the series. That's what I like to do, haha. There will be little bits here and there and a few chapters that don't have to do with the series, but they'll probably come later. **

**Obviously a Sherlock/OC thing, but don't expect a romance blossoming right away. **

**Also, this book shall be season one, since I'll try and break up each episode best I can to make a good size book, and then next will be next season, followed by another book for season three.**

**So, not much is known so far about Bluebell besides the fact that she knows Sherlock already, for a good few years. She rambles a bit, is quite childish, overthinks about things, slightly random...**

**And knows Jim, who you all better recognize. Not too hard. **

**So, even though as I already mentioned I hate first chapters, how'd I do? Not much interaction between Sherlock and Blu in this one I'm afraid, but next one for sure. Blu sound like an interesting character? 'Cause I promise she'll only get better as things move along.**

**Votes and comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you all and have a wonderful day!**


	2. Chapter 2: An Army Doctor

"Aunt Lily, where's my spare duffle bag?!" I yelled up the steps at her. "I can't find it anywhere."

"No need to shout, honey." I jumped and gave off a scream as my aunt appeared right behind me. She smiled at me. I placed a hand over my quickly beating heart. "I was just in the kitchen."

I eyed her bun on top of her hair. Loose red strands were falling out everywhere, a few even in front of her eyes. She brushed them back with her fingers before bringing her hands down and slapping them against the white apron wrapped around her waist. Handprints added to the multiple ones that were already on the fabric.

"Baking?" I asked. She nodded. I took a quick whiff of the air. "Smells a bit burnt."

She shrugged. "Just the first batch."

"Cookies?" She nodded again. I licked my lips with a grin. "What kind?"

"You tell me," she said with a smirk. She crossed her arms and raised a brow.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not Sherlock, Aunt Lily. I don't have an answer for _everything_."

The smirk that had been on her face slowly disappeared. "About that, dear-y..."

I threw my hands up in the air and stomped up the steps. Aunt Lily called my name but I just kept going. As I stepped off the last step and rounded the top rail, I saw her quickly following after me. I continued to ignore her as I stormed into my bedroom. She continuously called after me, her hands gripping at her dress in order to not trip over it.

"Bluebell!" Aunt Lily shouted. "I just want to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about, Aunt Lily. I'm going to go and live with Sherlock and that's final. I can't live with you the rest of my life. I'm twenty-four years old. All of my sisters live with someone or are alone. Why can't I?"

Aunt Lily followed me into my bedroom. I glared over my shoulder at her as I started pulling out my clothes. She frowned and bit her lip as she stared back. When she started to get closer to me, I looked back at my clothes.

Aunt Lily placed her hands over top of mine. She gently grasped them and squeezed. "I just don't think you moving in with that man is the right way to go, honey. I don't want to see you get hurt. If you want an apartment so badly, we can search together. I'll help you get a job and pay for whatever you need. Please. You aren't a detective, Bluebell."

I pulled my hands out of hers. I slowly shook my head. "Why can't you understand, Aunt Lily? Being his partner is the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Life's never been better."

"Until you wind up dead."

I sighed heavily through my nose. "No matter what I do, detective or not, I have a chance of dying somehow. Please, Aunt Lily. Do not tell me how to run my life. I had enough of that growing up."

My aunt grabbed my shoulders and turned me slightly so she could look me in the eye. She looked quite sad. I swallowed when I saw the tears in her green eyes. I hurriedly averted my own eyes before I started crying as well. Too much more of this and she may yet change my mind after all. That face of hers hurts right in the heart.

"I'm not trying to run your life, Bluebell. I'm just making sure you make the right decisions."

"Aunt Lily, please," I begged her. "Please, please, please."

"Bluebell...," she whispered, "why do you even want to be a detective alongside this man? Is it because you like him?" I shook my head, biting my lip. That was _a_ reason, but I'd rather not let her know that it was. She'd think it a stupid one and I'd probably get a talk of some kind of why it shouldn't be a reason. "Is it because of your...mum?" she asked, her voice becoming soft at the word 'mum.'

I looked up into her eyes and gave a small smile. I placed both my hands on top of hers, which were still on my shoulders. The tears started to come forth from her eyes now. They ran down her cheeks and dripped to the floor. Slowly her hands fell down off of my shoulders and wound around my body. I sighed softly and hugged her back. I stared at the door and placed my chin on the top of her head as I just let her sob into my chest.

"No, Aunt Lily," I told her. "That's not the reason. Mum was just...destiny, I guess you could say. Without her, I'd never have met him." I paused as her crying grew louder. I started to rub circles on her backside. "You see, Aunt Lily, it took a bit, a long while actually, but I can say that Sherlock and I are definitely friends. I've never had a friend before, you know. Never really got the chance. Everyone made fun of me in school, remember? But now I have one, well two if you count Jim. Yeah, I've got a crush on the detective, but I don't think I could leave Sherlock even if I wanted to. I'm not sure if I'll ever meet another man like him. He's just too special." I pulled my head away from my aunt and glanced down at her as her crying grew less and less until she had finally stopped. I still kept my arms around her, though, because I could feel her shaking a bit. "Besides, I'm not sure if I would really want to give up being a detective. It's too much fun. Solving cases and all. Who'd ever want to give that up?"

I gave a laugh in hopes that Aunt Lily would cheer up a little, but she still stayed with her head pressed against my chest. My laughter died down and I just decided to stop talking for once in my life.

I was still going to leave and move in with Sherlock, and John of course, tomorrow, but I may as well enjoy the time I had left with my aunt the next hour. Right now she needed me. I knew in time she'd understand my reasoning for wanting to move in with the detective, but now wasn't the time to push it any further. Compared to my sisters or my aunt's sisters for that matter, Aunt Lily was always more understanding when it came to Sherlock and me. Whenever the mere mention of Sherlock's name, whether first or last, was ever said before any of the rest of them, one of them would instantly say a nasty comment or two and an argument would soon ensure between me and whoever was present at the time. Sometimes a fight depending on how bad the conversation went.

None of them appreciated Sherlock five years ago and the hatred towards the man still rings true today.

* * *

**I am near ur aunt's home. Care 4 a lift?**

**SH**

I shouldered my bag and quickly answered back a yes to the detective. I would have been taking a cab to Baker Street anyway, so might as well take what I can get. As I put my phone away, I saw Aunt Lily out of the corner of my eye in the kitchen washing dishes. Her eyes quickly dropped down to the sink before her when she saw me staring. I continued to stare at her and a few moments later her eyes cautiously peered back up to look at me. I grinned and gave her a wink. Aunt Lily gave a small smile back and quickly looked back down at the dishes.

I turned back to the road and sighed, pushing up my glasses as they traveled down my nose a bit. My smile instantly disappeared.

After Aunt Lily had eventually calmed down, she had told me that it was my life and I could do with it whatever I wanted to. Before I even had a chance to respond, she had gone and quickly left. Listening, I was then soon able to hear her next door in her own bedroom once again bawling her eyes out. By that point, I had been unable to handle it anymore and I had started to cry as well, but silently, as I started to pack. It was ten to seven now and I had just finished with two bags full of what clothes I could carry. The rest was going to have to wait until I could borrow someone's vehicle.

A black cab pulled up in front of me and the door opened. Sherlock sat inside of the vehicle and gave me a quick glance over. I hurriedly got into the car before I decided to suddenly change my mind about leaving my aunt for a man I had known for only a mere five years.

I dropped my bags of clothes to my feet and leaned back as the car started moving forward. I let out a loud sigh and stared up at the ceiling. Out of the corner of my eye I could still see Sherlock staring at me, even as he told the driver where we were going. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to actually say something.

"You've been crying," he told me. "Your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are red."

I rubbed at my eyes. "No shit, Sherlock," I mumbled. I then mentally cringed. I never swear. Never. Especially to Sherlock. Sherlock knew that fact as well. I only ever did it when I was getting angry with him. And when I say angry, I mean _really_ angry.

"Why?" he asked. His eyes narrowed a bit as he tried to figure out the reason.

"I don't want to talk about it, Sherlock. Drop it." I turned away from him to face the window.

I pressed my forehead against the cold glass and closed my eyes. He was giving me a headache. I would have put in my headphones, but I knew the drive wasn't too far. I didn't see a point in it. Too much energy.

"Did you and your aunt have another argument about me? You always seem to do," he pressed on. "Considering and all that your family hates me."

"I said I don't want to bloody talk about it, Sherlock!" I snapped at him. He just blinked back at me. "Just leave me alone for a little bit. I need to calm down." Sherlock continued to stare at me. "Please."

Sherlock faced forward. He pulled out his phone and began to pay attention to it instead of me. "Very well. As you wish."

Once we finally reached the flat ten minutes later, I opened my eyes and spotted John at the door banging the door banger. I opened the cab door and stepped out with my bags with Sherlock right behind me.

"Hello," Sherlock said to the man, paying the driver and shutting the cab door.

I forced a smile onto my face. "It's nice to see you showed up, John!"

John spun to face us. "Ah. Mr. Holmes, Miss Lavender."

Sherlock walked up to him and shook his hand. I scooted by and knocked on the door once more. "Sherlock, please," Sherlock told John.

"And for me it's either Bluebell or Blu," I told him. I moved one of my bags under my arm so I could waggle a finger in front of his face. "No Miss. _Never_ a Miss. What a rubbish title 'Miss.' Who would invent such a rubbish title?"

"Okay. I can remember that." John started to glance around when he and Sherlock released hands. "Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive."

Sherlock put his hands behind his back. "Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's given me a special deal. Owes me a favor." John turned to look at him in surprise. "A few years back her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, thanks, Sherlock. Glad to know I'm loved. I was there too you know. Granted I didn't do much at the time, being new and all, but I still was there alongside you."

"So you stopped her husband being executed?" John asked us.

"Oh, no," Sherlock told him. "I ensured it."

John continued to stare at Sherlock as the taller man gave a small smile. The detective's and my head both turned in unison, though, when the flat's door opened and Mrs. Hudson stood in the doorway. She smiled and reached out her arms for us.

"Sherlock!" she said, giving him a hug. I smiled as he hugged her back. When she released him she instantly turned to me and gave me one as well. "Bluebell!"`

"Hello again, Mrs. Hudson," I said.

"Mrs. Hudson, Dr. John Watson," Sherlock said when she released me. He indicated to the man with his hand.

The landlady smiled over at John. "Hello."

He nodded back. "Hello."

Mrs. Hudson took a small step back and gestured for John to enter the building. "Come in."

"Thank you," John responded as he did so.

The detective glanced down at me. "Shall we?" he asked.

"Yeah. Let's. Before I change my mind and try to leave you."

Sherlock allowed me to enter the place first and then he followed behind. Mrs. Hudson was last as she was the one to shut the door after we were all inside the building. John stepped to the side and Sherlock bounded up the steps. John then nodded for me to go on next and I grinned at him in thanks and followed the detective. At the top of the stairs, Sherlock stood in front of a black door with his hand on the handle. Once he saw me and then John coming up the steps, he opened the door and stepped into the room.

I trailed into the room after Sherlock and took a seat in one of the chairs by the fireplace. I dropped my bags on the floor on either sides of me and threw my head back so I could stare at the ceiling. Out of the corner of my eye I could see John standing in front of the doorway just gazing at everything in the room. I chuckled at him.

"Well, this could be very nice," he finally said. He moved over to where Sherlock stood in the space between the kitchen and living room. "Very nice indeed."

"Yes," Sherlock nodded. "Yes. I think so. My thoughts precisely."

"Mine too," I agreed. "Bit small for three people, but it's kind of cute. I like it."

Sherlock continued, "So I went straight ahead and moved in."

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out..." John began.

Sherlock and John slowly looked at the other. Each one blinked. "Awkward," I sang under my breath, earning both sets of eyes on me. I gave them raised eyebrows back in response.

"Oh," John said. Sherlock quickly moved forward to pick some things up. "So this is all...?"

"Well, obviously I can, umm, straighten things up," the detective told John. He put a file of papers in a container on the table and then grabbed some more papers that were lying on the table and placed them onto the top of the fireplace. There was then a sharp noise as he stabbed through the papers with a dagger and into the fireplace, "a bit."

"_Sherlock!_" I exclaimed exasperated. "Not really _our_ fireplace! You can't just go and do that!"

"Who's paying the rent again, Blu?" he asked, glaring down at me. I quickly brought my hands up in surrender.

Wanting to move the topic along, John brought his cane up and pointed it at the skull on the fireplace. "It's a skull."

Sherlock gave it a quick glance with his hands in his coat pockets. "Friend of mine." Another glance. "Well, I say friend..."

I shook my head and lowered my hands. "Five years and I'm still not sure if you're kidding or not about it being your friend. If it is, I feel that I should be slightly offended."

"What'd you think then, Dr. Watson?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she came into the room. Sherlock started to take his coat and scarf off as he and I watched John. He placed down both on the table and started to clean the living room up a bit more. "There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

"Of course we'll be needing two," John told her confused.

I snorted. When John gave me a look, I covered my mouth with one of my hands and waved at him with my fingers with the other.

"Oh, don't worry. There's all sorts around here," Mrs. Hudson quickly explained. John looked back over at him. "Mrs. Turner next door got's married ones," she whispered.

"Hold on," John turned to look at me. "There's two bedrooms and three of us."

I waved John off. "Don't worry too much about it. It's a combination of me sleeping on the couch and stealing Sherlock's bed when it isn't in use. He doesn't mind, considering he barely gets enough sleep anyway. And if worse comes to worse, I can share a bed with him. No problem. We've actually had to share a bed a few times before during different cases."

John moved a finger between Sherlock and me. "Wait. So you two _aren't_ together?"

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Not you as well. They're all the same, Blu."

"What?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"Sherlock and I aren't a couple, John," I told the man, directing his attention back to me. "I'm his partner...which by that I mean I work with him...and his friend. There is no physical relationship going on between the two of us. There never was and never will be." I swallowed at the end. That hurt much more than it should have to say.

"Oh, I'm sorry," John quickly apologized. "I just assumed..."

I stood up and placed my hands on his shoulders. I gave a small smile and gently squeezed. "It's quite all right, John. You aren't the only one who says that, believe you me. A lot, and I mean _a lot_, of people believe he and I are together, others think we _should_ get together, some think that we're _secretly_ together and just _pretend_ we aren't for public reasons, and then there are the people who make fun of us by calling each one of us the other's boy/girlfriend when they in fact know that it isn't true."

"Wow," John breathed. "I see..."

"Oh, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson called over to him. I released John's shoulders and took a step back from him. Sherlock paused in what he was doing for a second to peer over at Mrs. Hudson."The mess you made."

"Might as make yourself comfortable," I told John. I nodded down at one of the chairs. "There's not much to do today, I'm afraid. Nothing's going on as far as I'm aware of, unless we were to get a surprise of some kind."

"Thank you," he nodded back.

"Oh, just being polite," I laughed.

As John went to take a seat the chair that I hadn't been sitting in earlier near the fireplace, I grabbed both my bags. As I turned a bit, I laughed again as I saw him pound one of the pillows on the chair just before flopping down into the seat. When he was sitting comfortably, I took my things and searched for the bedroom that Sherlock had picked out for himself. I didn't even enter the room when I found it. I just bumped the door open with my hip, since it wasn't latched, and tossed my bags onto the bed in the room.

I came back to the living room just as John said, "I looked you up on the internet last night. Both you and Bluebell."

I froze while Sherlock spun to stare over at the doctor. "Anything interesting?"

"Found your website. The Science of Deduction."

A small smile seemed to come onto Sherlock's face. I sighed a little and fully entered the room. Once I knew John couldn't see my face anymore, I gave a small smile as well. What a relief. "What did you think?"

John gave Sherlock a funny look, turning the detective's smile instantly into a confused frown. I just gave Sherlock a pat on the shoulder before taking a seat on the couch against the wall opposite the fireplace. He gave me a quick glance.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb?" John said, the ending sounding more of a question as he tried to remember.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I can read your military career in your face and your leg and your brother's drinking habits on your mobile phone."

"How?" The smile came back onto Sherlock's face, but he didn't elaborate. Since he wasn't getting his answer, John instead turned his head to look at me. "I found you on the internet as well."

"That so?" I asked, pretending to sound interested.

"Yeah. There was some case about you and your family from about five years ago. It didn't say much about it, though." John nodded at Sherlock. I tightly closed my eyes. "The article said he was there too. Something about your mum, I think, and how she-"

"Shut up!" I exclaimed, jumping to my feet. My eyes snapped open. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

"Sit down, Blu, before you hurt someone," Sherlock said as he eyed me carefully. "You're doing it again."

I blinked. "What?" I then noticed that both John and Mrs. Hudson were staring at me. Slowly my eyes traveled down and saw that both of my fists were clenched down at my sides. My knuckles were already starting to turn white from how hard I was clenching my hands. I quickly sat down. I shoved my hands under my bottom when I saw that one of my nails had cut into the skin and I was bleeding a little bit. "Sorry, John."

"Better?" Sherlock asked. "Calm now?"

I nodded and hung my head a little in shame. "Yeah. Sorry again. That was uncalled for. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

There was a silence for a few moments as I felt John's and Mrs. Hudson's eyes still on me. I kept my eyes downcast, though. If I saw their surprised looks, I might just snap at them again.

Finally somebody broke the silence and spoke. I let out the breath I had been holding and peered up at everyone again, adjusting my glasses as I did so.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Bluebell! What is wrong with you?! You shouldn't have snapped even in the first place. It's all right for other people to talk about what happened. It was just five years ago. You don't even regret what happened. You're over it. Sherlock made everything better. Everything... Other people who weren't there can say anything they want about it. It's all over.

"What about these suicides here, then Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a newspaper in hand as she came back into the kitchen. I looked at her through my hair. "I thought that'd be right up your and Bluebell's street." Sherlock seemed to ignore her as he moved over to the window. "Three exactly the same."

"Four," Sherlock stated.

"What?" I asked him, snapping my head fully up so I could clearly see him. I brushed back my hair behind my ears as my eyes widened a little. A case?

"There's been a fourth," he said as he stared out of the window. "There's something different this time."

I came up next to Sherlock and spotted a police car parked outside of the flat. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade jumped out and hurried into the building.

"A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson questioned.

"Maybe they aren't suicides after all," I murmured. I folded my arms.

As soon as Lestrade entered the room, Sherlock looked over at him and said, "Where?"

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens," the DI told us.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't be coming to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah," Sherlock and I said in unison.

"This one did," Lestrade said. I peered up at Sherlock to watch his expression. He appeared quite interested _and_ delighted in the fact that this one was different from the others. I sighed at his expression. "Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked.

"Anderson."

I grimaced. "Not him. Anyone but him."

"Anderson won't work with me," Sherlock said, looking away.

"Well, he won't be your assistant," Lestrade told him. "You've got Blu."

"Still doesn't mean we want Anderson working with us," I told Lestrade. "The day I'm nice to that man is the day he goes mute. He _and_ Donovan for that matter."

Lestrade sighed a bit, getting a little frustrated. Not that anyone could blame the poor man. For me, usually I really was a nice person, unless angry of course. Anderson and Donovan lost that niceness of mine, though, when I first met them a few years ago. The very first case I came on with the detective. They've no respect whatsoever for Sherlock and I gained no respect from them for just hanging around with him and for always defending him.

"Will you come?" he asked us.

"Not in a police car," Sherlock answered. "We'll be right behind."

Lestrade bowed his head a little. "Thank you." The DI then gave John and Mrs. Hudson a quick glance before walking out of the room.

Sherlock watched out the window as Lestrade got back into the police car and drove away. A smile appeared on his face once the DI was fully gone and he turned back around. "Brilliant!" he said as he jumped into the air. His hands were in balled fists, his eyes closed in glee, and his knees bent back so his feet almost touched his bum. When he landed, his smile grew. "Yes! Ah! Four serial suicides and now a note." I couldn't help but grin just a little at his behavior and shake my head a bit as he spun once with his hands in the air by his face. Sherlock shouldn't be so happy about something like this, but this one time I could live with it. He was so cute to watch when he was ecstatic about something...even when the timing was wrong and the emotions incorrect. "Ah, it's Christmas, Blu!" Sherlock quickly grabbed his coat and scarf and started to pull the coat on. "Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear," she told him as he moved into the kitchen, "not your housekeeper."

"Something cold will do," he said ignoring her as he wrapped the scarf around his neck. "John, have a cup of tea. Make yourself at home. Let's go, Bluebell." I stuffed my hands into my pockets and moved after him as he opened the door and stepped through. "Don't wait up!" I just made it out into the hall before he shut the door.

Sherlock darted down the steps, taking two at a time. I snickered as I watched him, not moving whatsoever. When he got to the point where neither one of us could see the other, I waited for his voice to float back up to us.

I started to quietly count. "Three...two...one..."

"Are you not coming?" he called. His footsteps sounded as he came back up some of the steps so he and I could see the other.

I shrugged. "I feel a little bad. What about John?"

"What about him?"

"Well, we just introduced him to the flat and we're leaving him. It feels a bit rude, don't you think?"

The detective just stared up at me. "Is it?"

I folded my arms and nodded a couple times. "Very. You could've had the decency to at least ask him to tag along with us. You said he has a bit of military history. Why not ask him? He might be useful in some way or another."

Sherlock came back up next to me and gave a smirk. "He _was_ in the war, wasn't he? A doctor...but not just that, no, an _army_ doctor."

His smirk grew and his eyes seemed to light up. Just before he opened the door, I received a kiss on the cheek. I smiled myself and placed a hand on the cheek he had brushed. My cheeks flushed a little as Sherlock began to pull on his gloves. I popped in my head beside him a moment later once I was able to cool down my cheeks. My smile widened as I stared over at John.

"You're a doctor," Sherlock said over to John. The man's head snapped over from the newspaper he held to look at us. "In fact you're an army doctor."

"Yes." John grabbed at his cane and pushed himself up to his feet with it.

"Any good?" Sherlock asked.

"Very good."

"That's good," I giggled.

"Seen a lot of injuries then," Sherlock stepped closer to John. "Violent deaths."

John nodded. "Yes."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet," Sherlock continued.

"Of course. Yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."

"Wanna see some more?"

"Oh, God yes."

I laughed as John followed after Sherlock. I patted him on the back as he walked by me before following behind. "That's the spirit, John. Welcome to the team!"

When we got to the bottom of the steps, John called out, "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson. I'll skip the tea. Off out."

"All three of you?" she asked back.

Sherlock was almost out of the flat when he turned back around and stepped closer to where the woman was. "Impossible suicides? Four of them?" Sherlock lightly grabbed at the landlady's shoulders. He shook her a tiny bit, showing how pumped up the case was starting to make him. The adrenaline was already pumping through his veins. "There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something _fun_ going on!" He gave her a quick kiss on the side of the cheek and pulled back with a smile.

"Look at you all happy. It's not decent," she told him, lightly smacking his arm when he let her go. "I thought you were teaching him better, Bluebell."

I shrugged. "I'm trying, but it's a very difficult job, Mrs. Hudson. I'm giving it everything I've got."

"Who cares about decent?" Sherlock asked as he started to walk back to the door. "The game, Mrs. Hudson and Blu, is on!" Sherlock opened the door and walked out onto the pavement by the street. I gave Mrs. Hudson a quick goodbye hug before dashing after the taller man. John followed. He and I came up beside Sherlock just as he brought a hand up in the direction of the incoming car and called out, "Taxi!"

The black cab pulled to stop in front of the three of us. Sherlock opened the back door and got in, with me entering after him, and John bringing up the rear. As soon as the door was shut, Sherlock gave the directions and off we went.

A majority of the car ride was quite boring. John was staring out of his window and Sherlock had pulled his phone out and was texting. I had my head laying on his shoulder as I tiredly watched the detective text. My glasses were hanging off of the neckline of my shirt. John gave us a couple glances every once in a while. He looked as if he wasn't sure what to make of us. I tried to ignore him as best I could. I couldn't quite make out the expression on his face whenever he stared at us.

As Sherlock finished up with a text, his eyes glanced over and spotted John looking at us. "Okay, you've got questions."

"Yeah," John said. "Where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next."

"Who are you two? What do you do?"

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked.

"I'd say private detectives..."

"But..." Sherlock and I said together.

"The police don't go to private detectives."

Sherlock gave a smile. "I'm a _consulting_ detective," he corrected.

"And I'm just his partner, John," I told the doctor.

"Only one in the world. I invented the job," Sherlock added on.

"Making me the only partner to one."

John eyed us. "What does that mean?"

"Means when the police are out of their depths, which is always, they consult me."

John chuckled a little. "The police don't consult amateurs."

I closed my eyes and smiled just as Sherlock gazed back over at John. "Wrong choice of words, Dr. Watson."

"When I met you for the first time yesterday I said Afghanistan or Iraq. You looked surprised," Sherlock said to him.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation when you entered the room said trained Bart's, so army doctor obviously. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's very bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it. So it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic, wounded in action then. Wounded in action, suntan...Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic lump, of course you've got a therapist. And then there's your brother," Sherlock continued on.

"Hmm?" John went.

I quietly chuckled and cracked open an eye. I saw Sherlock reach over and grab John's phone.

"Your phone. It's expensive, email enabled, mp3 player. And you're looking for a flat share. You wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift then." Sherlock turned the phone over to show the many scratches on the device. "Scratches, not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. You wouldn't treat your one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

"The engraving?" John asked as Sherlock showed the words on the back of the phone.

"Harry Watson. Clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Ooh, Clara. Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must have given it to him recently. This model's only six months old." Sherlock turned the phone about more as he stared at it. "Marriage in trouble then. Six months old and he's just given it away? If she left him, he would've kept it. People do. Sentiment. _Noooo._ He wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation and you're not going to your brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How can you _possibly_ know about the drinking?" John questioned.

Sherlock gave a winning smile for a split second. "Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection. Tiny little scuff marks around it." He showed John and me the marks he was talking about. "Every night he plugs it in but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them." Sherlock handed John back his phone. "There you go, you were right."

"I was right?" John asked stunned. "Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs."

John stared down at the floor of the cab. "That...was amazing."

I blinked at John and raised my head off of Sherlock's shoulder to stare at him. "Oh, my God," I breathed with a smile. Did he just...?

"You think so?" Sherlock asked surprised.

"Of course it was," John said back. "It was extraordinary, it was...quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off," he told the doctor.

That got a grin out of John.

I laughed and locked my arm through Sherlock's as he smiled a little as well. "Oh, not everybody says that, Sherlock. You impress me. You always have. Ever since we met one another."

Sherlock glanced down at me. "You have never been normal nor a person, Blu."

I grinned and put my head back on his shoulder. "Nope," I said, popping the 'p'. I laughed again. "I'm just a bluebell!"

* * *

**And bam! The second chapter of the story. I'm actually almost halfway done with this episode. Not sure why, but I really want to complete this story and hurry back on over to my others, not because I hate this story, but because I'm having so much fun writing it up. It'd be nice to complete a story since I'm so awful at doing it quickly. Hopefully Season Three is out by the time I've finished with Season 2. **

**Anyway, more information on Blu. There's a bit of her aunt, some sort of case that involved her family (but mostly her mum) and Sherlock solving it of course, the odd relationship Blu and Sherlock hold for one another, and Blu's family problems.**

**Hmm. Well, please comment thoughts. I'd greatly appreciate it.**

**Also, P.S. since I forgot to say this last chapter, if you like actresses/actors to help you imagine the characters, Blu is to be played by Emma Bell. I'll try and post a picture on my homepage.**


	3. Chapter 3: The Freak and His Girlfriend

Our black cab pulled to a stop and Sherlock opened the door. I lifted my head off of his shoulder and he got out of the vehicle. I came out after him with John right behind me. Sherlock instantly started to walk forward once the cab had been paid and it drove away.

"Did I get anything wrong?" he asked John who was walking right beside him. I was on John's other side.

"Harry and me don't get on. Never have," John told us. "Clara and Harry split up three months ago, they're getting a divorce...Harry _is_ a drinker."

"Spot on, then," Sherlock said. "I didn't expect to be right about everything."

"Harry's short for Harriet."

I snorted and quickly placed my hands over my mouth to hide my smile. Sherlock paused in his walking, stunned at that bit of news. He stared at John. When John continued to go on ahead, oblivious to Sherlock's look, I tapped the man on the shoulder. He glanced at me and I pointed over at the detective. John looked back as well confused.

"Harry's your sister," Sherlock stated.

"What exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" John asked, ignoring him.

"His _sister!_" Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" John asked when Sherlock finally started to move forward again.

"There's always something," Sherlock said to himself.

I hooked my arm through John's. I gave the doctor a grin. "You're here to help, John!"

"I thought you were the partner, though?"

I slowly nodded as we trailed behind Sherlock. "Yes. Yes, I am. But _you're_ the doctor, are you not? You are quite useful. You know what I'm useful for? Nature. That's it. Ask me any question about any plant or tree or something like that and I've got the answer like that," I snapped my fingers. "It's all in my head, it is. Makes me not much good for a lot of cases, though. You, John, on the other hand! Oh, you. You're a doctor. You've seen it all. So a dead body _and_ a doctor! Match made in Heaven, if I do say so myself."

"Thank...you?" John said, more in the form of a question than a statement. I laughed. I loved it when I made people confuzzled and all. Sherlock was the only one who ever really understood me when I just kept going on and on. John did look especially adorable, though, when compared to most that were confused. He just blinked a little bit and his face scrunched up.

"Hello, Freak."

I rolled my eyes at the voice and the woman it came from as we neared the crime scene. Donovan gave us a frown as she stood behind the police tape that separated the scene from the rest of the world.

"He's not a freak," I snarled at her. "Besides, look who's talking."

"We're here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock told her, pretending that I hadn't spoken. He stepped in front of me so Donovan was blocked from my view and me from hers. I frowned. I hated when he did that, especially on purpose.

"Why?" she asked back.

"Why not?" I sneered back at her, my chin coming to rest up on Sherlock's shoulder. Donovan glared at me. I stuck out my tongue in response.

"Blu and I were invited," Sherlock told her as he gave me a pointed look. I quickly snapped my mouth shut.

"Why?"

I got ready to open my mouth once more for another cheeky response, but Sherlock gave me the same look again from before and placed a hand in front of my face so I couldn't see.. I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest as I removed my head from his shoulder and pressed my forehead instead against his backside. Donovan was already so rude. I don't understand why I can't just level the playing fields and be so back. Sherlock's does it sometimes! But then again...I'd get in a fight if I had to where Sherlock would rather insult people using his brain and the words that come from his mouth.

"He wants me to take a look," Sherlock explained simply.

"Well, you know what I think don't you?" she asked him.

I moved my head back as Sherlock lifted the tape and stepped under. He held it up another few seconds as I quickly joined him on the other side. "Always, Sally." When he dropped the tape, he eyed the woman. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

"I-I d-don't..." Donovan stuttered. She quickly changed the subject when John tried to pass under the tape. She stopped him. "Who's this?"

"Colleague of ours," I told her with a smile.

"Dr. Watson. Dr. Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan," Sherlock introduced. "Old friend."

"A colleague?" Donovan asked us. "How do you two get a colleague?" She looked back over at John. "What? Did they follow you home?" she asked, pointing at Sherlock and me. I glared again at her.

"Would it be better if I just waited...?" John awkwardly asked, pointing off to the side of the road.

"Nope!" Sherlock and I told him in sync. The detective lifted the tape once more high into the air. John stared at us before ducking his head and passing under the blue and white tape.

As John joined us on the other side, Donovan brought up her radio to her mouth and said, "The Freak and his girlfriend are here." My eyes hardened on her backside as she walked off. "Bringing them in."

"God, I hate that woman," I growled. "One day I'm going to snap and she and Anderson are going to be the top people on my list that I go after to kill."

"That seems a bit harsh, don't you think?" John told me as we moved together towards the building.

"Surprisingly, I think I can live with it," I told him truthfully. "Now I just need to figure out a plan on how to exactly do this... Bet Sherlock could help me out if I ask nicely..."

"Ah, Anderson," Sherlock said, snapping me from my thoughts.

"Speak of the Devil and he shall appear," I muttered as the man stopped right before us with a frown.

"Here we are again," Sherlock continued.

"It's a crime scene, I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" he demanded Sherlock.

"Quite clear," Sherlock told him.

"Crystal," I said with a feigned smile and a thumbs up.

"And is your wife away for long?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out," Anderson sneered. "Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

Anderson looked a little disbelieving. "My deodorant?"

Sherlock grinned a bit. "It's for men."

"Well of course it's for men! _I'm_ wearing it!"

"So is Sergeant Donovan." Sherlock nodded a bit in Donovan's direction. The woman appeared quite surprised as she stared at him. Her mouth opened a little. Anderson quickly spun around to stare at the woman. "Ooh. I think it just vaporized. May we go in?"

Anderson turned back to us. He waved a finger. "Now, look. Whatever you're trying to imply..."

"I'm not implying anything," Sherlock responded, already starting to walk around the man. "I'm sure Sally came around for a nice little chat and just _happened_ to stay over." Sherlock stopped in front of the door of the building and spun back around to face them. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." Sherlock glanced down at the woman's knees. When his eyes came back up, he smirked. The two stared back at him with wide eyes.

I laughed and skipped after Sherlock as he went into the building. John limped behind me. I smirked at Donovan as I passed by her. I mockingly shook my head at her. As I clicked my tongue a a bit, I swiped one index finger over the other several times while John passed me and trailed after the detective and into the building.

"Shame, shame, Donovan," I tutted. "Such a bad, bad girl you are."

I laughed again at Donovan as she clamped her mouth shut and clenched her hands down by her sides. Her dark eyes hardened on me. I gave her a sarcastic salute and darted after Sherlock and John.

"You need to wear one of these," I heard Sherlock say.

I followed the detective's voice and found him and John in the room where a majority of the police were. Lestrade was in the middle of the two giving John an odd look. Everyone else in the room was minding their own businesses, whether being alone or talking with another.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asked Sherlock and me when I came up beside them with a smile. He kept glancing over at John.

"He's with us," Sherlock told him.

"But who is he?" he asked again as he pulled on the blue suit.

"I said he's with us," Sherlock told him, telling the DI that the conversation was over.

I rolled my eyes as Sherlock turned away. "His name's John," I murmured to Lestrade as the man eyed John again. "New flatmate and hopefully new partner." Lestrade's eyes came over onto me. He gave the smallest of nods in understanding.

"Aren't you two going to put one on?" John asked, finally noticing that neither I nor Sherlock was donning or trying to put on a blue suit. I gave the doctor a grin and patted him on the shoulder while accepting the pair of white gloves that Sherlock handed me from the table.

"So, where are we?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"Upstairs," the DI answered.

Once John had on his blue suit, Lestrade led the way towards the staircase. I peered up through the center and groaned. There were a _lot_ of steps. I hope the body wasn't too many floors up. I hate stairs. And escalators for that matter. Elevators are more my style. All you do is press a button and off you go.

Lestrade started up the stairs with Sherlock, me, and John behind him. He looked back at us over his shoulder. "I can give you two minutes."

"May need longer," Sherlock told him.

Lestrade faced forward. "Her name's Jennifer Wilson, according to her credit cards, we're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her."

I sighed when we didn't stop on the first floor...nor the second, but the third. I was a little out of breath when we reached the room that the dead body was in. Since I hated stairs, I made a habit not to take them up too many flights if given one. John gave me an odd look as I tried to catch my breath. I waved him on past me. He blinked, but nodded and followed Sherlock and Lestrade into the room.

Once I was ready to follow, I felt my phone buzz against my leg. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the device. I grinned at the sight of who it was. Jim. With my eyes on the screen of the phone, I trailed slowly into the room.

**Bored. Doing anything atm?**

Just as I started to reply, I bumped into John and almost fell backwards. The doctor gave me a look over his shoulder in surprise. I gave a sheepish grin as my form of apology and went back to staring at my phone. My fingers flew over the letters as I responded back to Jim.

**Middle of case with SH. Sorry.**

**Suicides?**

**Yep. 4th. Perhaps later we can get 2gether? Once SH finishes the case? **

"Shut up."

I snapped my attention up from the phone to see Sherlock staring a little at Lestrade. Lestrade blinked, looking confused. "I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking. It's annoying."

"Oh, Sherlock," I mumbled with a roll of my eyes. Lestrade stared over at John and then me. I shrugged a little as I stepped fully around John to get a good look of the body.

On the floor, face down, was the dead body. It was a woman with blonde hair, which covered a majority of her face so we couldn't see it unless we rolled her over, and a massive obsession with the color pink. Her coat was a hot pink color, her heels matched, and it appeared that her nails were the same. Lipstick was probably pink too judging by her appearance. I shuddered a bit. Way too much pink for my liking. It burned the eyes a bit just to look at her. Really bright _and_ she'd stand out in a crowd.

Besides, I'll stick to a good pair of jeans and a t-shirt and jacket any day of the week.

"The pink coat. That witnessed it all. The pink coat. Had no one to keep warm, now. The pink coat. That wanted to tell everyone the truth about her. Just; the pink coat," I quoted from memory.

"Huh?" John looked over at me. "Sorry?"

"It's something she does," Sherlock explained as he neared the body. "She likes to quote from poems when they work with the situation at hand."

I smiled and looked down at my phone to see if I received an answer yet. "They aren't mine, the quotes that is. I read them off of the internet and I'm always just able to remember them if they fit with what's going on around me."

**That might be much 2 long, though, Blu...**

I hurried and answered back.

**Might not. Not if he's lucky and quick, which he always tries 2 b so he can move on2 the next 1.**

I lifted my eyes from the screen and watched Sherlock as he stared down at the body. I came slowly up beside him and found his eyes more particularly looking at the note (Rache) that had been carved into the wooden floor by the woman's fingernails. I winched a little as I gave her destroyed nails a quick glance. That would have hurt, especially since she was already dying. I brought my attention back up to Sherlock as he mentally began to figure out what it was and meant.

**BORED!**

I rolled my eyes as my phone buzzed again and the message that Jim left. I quickly texted back to him.

**Go get a girlfriend if u're so bored then. Ur starting to sound a lot like SH. Besides, what part of 'I'm in a case with SH' did u not get?**

I went back to watching Sherlock as he bent down and ran his hand over the woman's coat. He then brought his fingers back to him and rubbed them together. It was hard to see, but there were signs of a liquid of some sort marking his gloved fingers. He brought his hands back onto the woman a moment later and pulled out what appeared to be an umbrella. He ran his hand over the white material of the umbrella, like he had done with the pink coat, but came up with dry fingers. His fingers then went and tried another spot on the woman's coat, under the collar near the back of her neck. I crouched down beside Sherlock as he brought his fingers to him again. Once more they were wet with what looked like water.

As Sherlock pulled out his tiny magnifying glass, my phone buzzed again. I quickly glanced down at it. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Sherlock moving the magnifying glass over top of all of her jewelry on the deceased woman's fingers.

**If u're in a case...y r u txting me back so much?**

**Bcuz. Now stop it.**

**Make me  
;D**

**Jim...**

I lowered my phone just as Sherlock pulled off one of the woman's rings. He brought it close to his face and inspected both sides of it. When he finished, his eyes roamed the woman's body again as he put the ring back on her finger. A smile slowly came onto his face.

Lestrade must've noticed it. "Got anything?"

Sherlock stood up and took off his gloves. "Not much."

"Liar," I murmured as my phone buzzed again. I glanced down at it.

**Still bored! Plz talk with me, Blu**

**Jim. I'm serious. Stop it now. I need 2 listen 2 SH now. He's about ready 2 speak.**

**But I thought we had something special...?**

**:(**

**Not when I'm in a case with SH**

"She's German." I jumped and almost dropped my phone when Anderson spoke. I glared over at the man who was just casually leaning against the doorframe with folded arms. He nodded over towards the dead pink lady. Sherlock made his way over to the man. "_Rache._ It's German for revenge. Could be trying to tell us something.

"Yes," Sherlock told him, starting to shut the door. "Thank you for your input." I laughed as he shut the door right in Anderson's face cutting the man off, his eyes gazing at the screen of his phone, not caring at all at what he had done.

"So, she's German?" Lestrade asked.

"Of course she's not," the detective answered, his fingers coming up to type on his phone. "She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious."

"Sorry, obvious?" John asked confused.

"What about the message?" Lestrade asked, pointing at the carving on the floor.

"Dr. Watson," Sherlock addressed the man, causing said doctor to look at him. "What'd you think?"

John looked at Lestrade and then me before returning his attention back to Sherlock. "About the message?"

"About the body. You're a medical man."

"Oh, no, we have a whole team right outside," Lestrade tried to tell the detective.

"They won't work with me," Sherlock told him.

I rolled my eyes. "Half of them are quite rude as well. Always getting in the way, always thinking they know what's right and wrong. So annoying."

"I'm breaking every rule letting _you two_ in here," Lestrade told us.  
"Yes," Sherlock said. "Because you need me."

I shrugged just as my phone buzzed. "And I'm his partner. Wherever he goes, I go. So, technically, I'm needed as well, even when I'm not actually needed."

Lestrade hesitated and then sighed. "Yes, I do." His eyes travelled down and stared at the floor. "God, help me."

"Dr. Watson," Sherlock said, his eyes back on John.

"Hmm?" John looked up at Sherlock and then stared over at the DI.

Lestrade looked a little hurt, but waved him off. "Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." We then watched as he went over to the door and opened it back up. He stepped through, leaving the door open. "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes."

My phone buzzed in my pocket again and I sighed and gave it a glance. John and Sherlock came back over to the body and bent down, John using his cane to aid him as he knelt. As he stared down at the body, he dropped his cane next to him. Sherlock carefully watched the doctor as he gazed at the woman.

**How is the case going?**

**Blu?**

I blinked down at the text he had sent as Sherlock said, "Well?" to John.

**Not sure I can really answer that 1, Jim. Technically, SH and I rn't allowed here. Might get in trouble if I told another about what I'm looking right now.**

"What am I doing here?" John asked.

"Helping me make a point," Sherlock said softly.

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent," he replied.

"Well, this is more fun."

"Fun?" he asked when he saw Sherlock smile a little. "There's a woman lying dead."

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper."

"Boys," I said, gaining both pairs of eyes onto me. "Focus. Lestrade gave us two minutes. Use your time wisely."

"Yeah...but, aren't _you_ the partner, though?" John asked.

I chuckled. "Deja vu, John? Quite positive that we've been through this. You're the doctor, I'm the nature expert. There's only so much I can do when it comes to a dead body."

John gave a sigh. Using his hand, John helped force his bad leg down so he could be on the knee. He then bent over the body and placed a few fingers on her neck. He lowered his face as well. After a few moments he moved back and instead grabbed her hand.

"Yeah," he finally said. He helped his leg back into its original position and looked over at us. "Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her, could've been a seizure." He looked over at Sherlock and me and then Lestrade, who had entered the room. "Possibly drugs."

"You know what it was. You've read the papers," Sherlock told him.

John blinked. "Well, she's one of the suicides. The fourth..."

"And that's why you're here, John," I grinned at him. "I'd never have figured that out...how she died, that is."

"Sherlock," Lestrade broke in, causing the detective's head to turn to look over at him. "Two minutes I said. I'll need anything you've got."

"Victim is in her late thirties," Sherlock began as he stood to his feet. "Professional person, going by her clothes. I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink." As my phone vibrated again, I thrust it into my pocket and helped John rise to his feet. "Travelled from Cardiff today intending to stay in London for one night, so obvious from the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?" Lestrade asked.

"Suitcase, yes!" Sherlock snapped back. "She's married for at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers, but none of them knew she was married."

"Oh for God's sake! If you're just making this up!" Lestrade exclaimed with crossed arms.

"Her wedding ring," Sherlock pointed at the body. "Ten years old, at least." He bent down back onto one knee and indicated the entire body. "The rest of her jewelry has been regularly clean, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage, right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside, that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. So for work, look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for?" Sherlock stood back up and moved over to Lestrade again. "Clearly not one lover, she'd never sustain the fiction of being single in that amount of time so more likely a string of them. Simple."

I grinned as John went, "That's brilliant." Sherlock looked over at him. John noticed his and Lestrade's looks and my face. "Sorry."

"Cardiff?" Lestrade asked, returning to the murder.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock asked.

"It's not obvious to me," John said, returning all attention to him again.

"Really?" I asked him. "You didn't get that part? I noticed when Sherlock pulled out the umbrella. Then again I have a cousin in Cardiff who never can keep his business to himself... He likes to tell me his day a lot when interesting things seem to happen to him, even if they aren't that interesting."

"Wait, you understood what he means?" John asked surprised.

Sherlock looked between John and Lestrade. "Dear God. What is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring."

"Rude, Sherlock," I coughed into a fist. "Very rude."

Sherlock continued on as if I hadn't 'coughed'. "Her _coat._ It's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours, no rain anywhere in London at that time. Under her coat collar is damp too. She's turned it up against the wind," he demonstrated her coat collar coming up with his hands, "She's got an umbrella in her left hand pocket, but it's dry and unused. Not just wind, _strong_ wind. Too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must've come a decent distance, but she can't have travelled over two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" Sherlock pulled out his phone again and turned it on. He held it up and showed it to Lestrade. "Cardiff."

"And as I said earlier," I told Lestrade, pulling the DI's attention back to me. "I have a cousin in Cardiff. If you don't believe Sherlock's weather report of the day, I can give him a ring if you like. He'd be happy to tell you what he told me about today's weather."

Lestrade sighed. "No, no. There's no need. I believe him."

"That's fantastic," John said in awe.

Sherlock turned to him. "Do you know you do that out loud?"

"Sorry. I'll shut up."

"No, it's...fine."

John then turned to me. "And it's brilliant that you knew what he was talking about. I thought you were just a nature expert?"

"I'm nothing like Sherlock, but I do have a bit of an eye for things," I admitted with a small smile. I glanced away when John beamed at me and rubbed the back of my neck. My cheeks flushed a little.

"Why do you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked Sherlock, cutting in.

Sherlock spun both ways, looking all over for it. "Yes, where is it? She must've had a phone or an organizer." He walked by Lestrade and closer to the door in his search. "Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing Rachel?" Lestrade asked.

I nodded as Sherlock moved his face close to Lestrade's and said, "No, she was writing an angry note in German," he said sarcastically. "Of _course_ she was writing Rachel, no other word it can be!" The detective moved over to the body and eyed it. "Question is, why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

John and Lestrade looked at me. "Let me guess, you knew that too?" Lestrade asked, seeing me still nodding my head as I stared at the word on the floor. "The bit about her writing?"

"What?" I asked, snapping out of my thoughts. I glanced at him. "Oh, yes. Rachel. Well, not sure why a woman, German or not, would be writing _Rache_ as her last word to the world. Seems a bit ridiculous to me, to be honest. If that was me right there, dead, I'd have written something for my family. A message to be remembered by or perhaps, if I could, something to help catch my killer if there was one." I gave a shrug. "Who'd want to be remembered by the word _Rache_?"

"How did you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asked, looking back at Sherlock.

Sherlock pointed at the woman's right leg. "Back of her right leg, tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Can't get that splashed pattern any other way. Smallish case going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes conscious, could only be an overnight bag so we know she was only staying one night." Sherlock pushed back his coat so he could bend over the dead woman's body. "Now where is it? What have you done with it?"

"There wasn't a case," Lestrade told him.

Sherlock slowly looked up at him. He eyed the man for a few seconds. "Say that again."

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase."

Sherlock stood up and marched between Lestrade and John. The two easily sidestepped out of the way. I followed the detective out into the hallway. "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase?" He started to go down the first couple steps. I stayed up on the third floor. "Was there a suitcase in this house?"

With his arms still crossed, Lestrade walked after us. "Sherlock, there's no case!"

"But they take the poison themselves. They chew, swallow the pills themselves," Sherlock told us. "There are clear signs even you lot couldn't miss them."

"Right," Lestrade said sarcastically. "Yeah, thanks." As Sherlock kept going farther down the steps, the DI bent over the railing and shouted at him, "And?!"

Sherlock stopped and stared up at us. I placed my arms on the railing and rested my head on my intertwined fingers. "It's murder. All of them. I don't know how. But they're not suicides, they're serial killings." Sherlock clapped his hands together and smiled in glee. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those! There's always something to look forward to."

"Sherlock!" I called after him when he started to go down more steps. "You can't just say that with _that_ kind of attitude when people are dead and more can die! It's _rude!_"

"Oh, who cares about rude, Bluebell!" he yelled back. "This is a serial killer we're talking about here!"

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Very, very rude indeed he was today.

"Why you saying that?" Lestrade asked, his hands now on the railing next to me.

Sherlock stopped again to stare up at us. "Her _case_. Come on, where is her case?! Did she eat it? Someone else was here and they took her case." Sherlock paused and stared ahead of him as a thought hit him. "So the killer must've driven her here. Forgot the case was in the car."

"She could've checked into a hotel, left her case there," John tried.

"No, she never got to the hotel," Sherlock interrupted. "Look at her hair! She color coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking..." he trailed off with his hands in the air on both sides of his face as another thought hit him full force.

I cocked my head a bit. "Looking like what, Sherlock?"

"Oh," he breathed. His eyes widened and he took a step back. "_Oh!_" His hands came together in a loud clap.

"Sherlock?" John and I asked.

"What is it? What?" Lestrade said.

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake."

Lestrade frowned. "We can't just wait!"

"Oh, we're done waiting," Sherlock called back. "Look at her! Really look! Houston, we have a mistake! Get on to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends are. Find Rachel!"

"Yes, course, but what _mistake?_!?" Lestrade shouted as Sherlock finished the steps and disappeared out of sight.

The detective appeared once more at the bottom and yelled back up, "_Pink!_" and with that, he was gone again.

I sighed when he was actually, properly, gone this time. I shook my head a bit. "How do I put up with that? I mean, really? How the _heck_ do I put up with _that?_"

Lestrade shook his head as he left John and me to enter the room with the body with other men and woman in blue suits. John looked at them and then over the railing at where Sherlock had been only moments ago. After a few seconds he then turned to me with an astonished/irritated look. I could only give a grin back and start the descent down the steps, going slow in order to wait for John who was limping along behind me.

Once we got to the bottom of the staircase, I pulled off my gloves as I waited for John to get out of the suit he was in. When he finished, I linked my arm through his and walked out with him out of the building. Instantly John glanced around for sight of the missing detective.

"Come on, John," I murmured, lightly pulling him towards the police tape. I squeezed his arm gently. "I doubt Sherlock's still here."

And if John had any sort of doubt about me lying, it would have instantly disappeared when Donovan saw John looking every which way and said, "He's gone."

"Sherlock Holmes?" he asked.

"John, he probably would have just taken off," I told him. "Grabbed a taxi or something. It's what he does when his mind is set on something for a case. There's no stopping him."

John looked at me. "Is he coming back?"

"Considering he never has before...I really doubt it."

John slowly nodded. "Right." He averted his eyes to look around the perimeter once more. "Right... Yes, where are we?" he asked me.

I shrugged and pulled out my phone to check when Donovan told him, "Brixton." When I looked at the screen of my phone, I recalled that I had received another message earlier that I hadn't had the chance to check yet.

"Do you know where we can get a cab? It's just a...well..." John glanced awkwardly down at his leg. He lifted his cane just the slightest. "My leg..."

My eyes widened slightly at the text message on my phone. Definitely not Jim. Worse. Much worse. I swallowed as I read the message once more.

**Aunt Lily told us. We know. Meet us at your new flat. We need to talk, Bluebell.**

"Uh..." Donovan walked to the tape and lifted it up. "Try the main road."

John started towards the tape. "Thanks." He ducked under. I went to follow him, but Donovan dropped the tape before I could. I glared at her as I stuffed my phone away.

"Look, you're not their friend," she told John whilst I lifted the tape back up and stepped under. "They don't have friends."

"He's got me," I snarled at her. "I'm his friend and he's mine. So, yes, we both have friends. Excuse us for not having a lot."

"Don't kid yourself, Freak. The two of you are _not_ friends," she sneered at me. I balled up my fists. "So who are you?" she asked John, ignoring me.

"I'm-I'm...nobody," John answered with a shake of his head. "I just met them."

My hands slowly unclenched. I gave him a concerned look. "Don't say that, John. You aren't a nobody. You're special in your own way. Why else would we have invited you?"

"Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from them. Especially Sherlock Holmes," she told him, giving me a cold look.

John gave me a quick glance. "Why?"

"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there, probably with the help of his pet too since she doesn't go anywhere without him," Donovan warned him.

My glare hardened. I was much, _much_ too close to beating up an officer today and going to jail. Would Sherlock bail me out if I did go? I bet he'd love the reason for me going there in the first place. He'd think it funny.

"Why would he do that?" John asked her confused. "Why would Blu help?"

"Because he's a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored."

I took a menacing step towards her and stabbed a finger at her chest. "Sherlock is _not_ a bloody _psychopath!_ So why don't you keep your damn _thoughts_ to yourself on things you _don't bloody understand!_"

Donovan glared back at me, but a smirk graced her lips. "And you wanna know why she'll help him? Because that's all Bluebell is good for. Following Sherlock Holmes around like a lost puppy. She'll do anything for him if he asks her. She _loves_ him," the woman spat out.

"Donovan!" Both the woman before me and I glanced over to see Lestrade summoning the officer to him. She gave him a nod and he disappeared back inside the building.

Donovan started to walk off. After taking only a few steps, though, she looked back over at us and said to John, "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes and Bluebell Lavender."  
"I hate her," I hissed once she was out of earshot. "I bloody _hate_ her!"

I took off my glasses and hung them off the collar of my shirt in order to cover my entire face with both of my hands. When my hands were on my face, I just stood there, breathing in and out as I tried to calm myself down. My body shook horribly and I could see stars from how hard I was pressing my hands against my face. Between my fingers I could see John watching me with scrunched eyebrows as he tried to make out what I was doing.

"You okay?" he asked.

I didn't answer at first, but after a few minutes I nodded. I lowered my hands just enough that they still covered my mouth and nose but I could at least see him. "I need to go back to my aunt's," I lied. "Do you think you'll be able to make it home to Baker Street okay by yourself?"

John nodded after a few seconds of hesitating. "I think I can manage." He then eyed me some more and brought up a hand to place on my shoulder. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

I nodded and removed my hands in order to rub my temples. I could feel the beginning of waterworks ready to flow so I kept blinking to stop them from falling. A headache had come as well and was pounding in my head. "Just peachy, John. I'll manage. I just hate having to deal with her or Anderson when Sherlock isn't around. As much as I have to say to both of those, idiots, Sherlock always seems to be much better at handling the situation without resorting to violence. Another fact about him I can tell you is he never lets really anything bother him and he always wins. He _always_ gets the last word in, especially when it comes to those two." I sighed and rubbed my temples again, more furiously this time. One crisis was over but I still had to go back to Baker Street and deal with the problem that was awaiting for me there. I wonder how many were going to be there.

"So I'll see you later, then?" John asked, removing his hand and putting it on his cane.

I nodded."Definitely. Be safe, John." I pecked his cheek before starting to walk backwards towards the road. "Who knows what or who you could run into around here." I waited until I received a nod from the man before dashing off, leaving John behind to stare after me.

I needed to get to Baker Street way before John arrived. Hopefully Sherlock was out and about doing his own thing so I wouldn't have to deal with him either. It was bad enough having them in the room, but them with Sherlock? Nope. I might as well just shoot myself to end all misery that would come of the situation.

These were the days that I really hated my sisters.

* * *

**Chapter number three! Whoo! And I still have one more typed up chapter for tomorrow and hopefully I can get one done for Sunday and then I probably won't update again until next Thursday again, or Friday. I'm on such a roll, though. **

**So, even more stuff on Blu, though not as secretively as I have been. The bit of the nature expert, how bad she and Donovan can get when Sherlock isn't around, the fact that Blu actually is smart and observant (just not like Sherlock of course), and then all those texts between her and Jim.**

**The next chapter is going to start off by showing just how bad Blu gets along with her sisters and then there's going to be another moment of just Sherlock and Bluebell together as John is preoccupied with Mycroft. **

**So, thoughts? Comments are lovely and make me smile. So far the story is still moving along slowly, but it'll speed up, I promise. There's only so much that can happen right now, especially since this all happens in one night (which I literally just realized that the other day. Not sure how I missed it when I first watched the episode. Stupid).**

**But other than that, do you like Blu? Does she seem like a good character? Obviously she's got a bit of a past that she covers up fairly good, but she can still get feisty at times. The main reason I even decided on having Blu and Sherlock know each other before John is because I didn't want Sherlock to deduce her right off the back. I wanted something to happen to her that he knows about, but barely anyone else does (like you the reader).**


	4. Chapter 4: Dangerous

"Finally! Where the hell have you been?"

I narrowed my eyes at my three sisters who took up the entire couch. The one with crossed arms, Marigold (the oldest), had been the one to speak. My other two sisters, third oldest Violet, and fourth oldest Myrtle, gazed at me with raised eyebrows. I slowly shut the door to the room behind me and leaned back against it.

Neither Mari or Vi looked anything like me, unlike Myrtle. The two of them had dark brown hair (Vi's actually had a reddish tint to it) and brown eyes. Mari had a tan like me and Violet was the palest person in our family. Both were roughly the same height which was still about two inches smaller than me. Myrtle on the other hand looked exactly like me, besides the fact that she was quite pale too but not as pale as Violet. Myrtle and I both shared the same shade of blonde when it came to our hair and bright blue eyes. The only differences there were between us was the fact that she was a good six inches shorter than me and I had a greenish tint to my eyes whenever the sun hit them. Unfortunately none of them had to wear glasses like I did.

"Where are the kids, Mari?" I asked back, nodding over towards where her husband sat near the fireplace. Richard eyed me for a few seconds before returning his attention back to the fireplace. He scowled and crossed his arms. "Aren't they a little young to be home alone?"

Richard was roughly two inches taller than me but still smaller than Sherlock. Where Sherlock was tall and kind of lanky, Richard had a bit of a bulk to him. He had muscles that were quite noticeable no matter what the guy wore. He had cropped short brown hair that had a rough look to it and dull green eyes. Just like now, he was never seen without a jacket of some sort.

"Lydon is thirteen and is able to care for himself and his little brother Marlin," she told me. "But it doesn't matter. They're both asleep and I have one of our friends watching them in case either wakes up."

"Besides," Violet began. "We're here to discuss you and this predicament you've gotten yourself in."

I scoffed. "What predicament? I've decided to move out of Aunt Lily's home and into my own."

"Yeah. And with a psychopath," Mari muttered.

I angrily exhaled through my nose. My fists clenched down by my sides, tightly gripping at my jeans. I had just been through that horrible conversation once already today with Donovan. I was not in the mood to do so again. Especially since these were my sisters and I had been ready to fight/murder the officer. I had barely been here in the flat for one day. Can't they just let me appreciate what I've got for myself?

"He isn't a psychopath, Mari!"

She scoffed. "Yeah. You've told us."

Myrtle rolled her eyes. "Because a sociopath is much better."

"I'm not even sure how the two of you get along together," Richard piped in. "The man with who doesn't care for other people's emotions and the girl who has too many to count. Doesn't make any sense."

"Well, it's none of your damn business what I do or who I live with," I growled. "None of you. Especially you, Richard! You're only family by bloody marriage."

"Which makes him still your family," Mari snarled. She stood up and marched over to me. My eyes widened a little and I shrunk back against the door. I swallowed when she was almost pressed up against me. Mari rose up onto her toes so we were touching noses. "Don't snap at my husband just because he was saying what we all think about you and him."

"Back off, Mari," I hissed through clenched teeth.

She didn't move, though. She just stayed right where she was. Her eyes narrowed a bit. I had to close my own eyes when she didn't budge whatsoever. Her breathing was hot and itchy on my face. It tickled a little.

"So where were you tonight?" she asked. "You never did answer the question."

"Why do you care? Any of you for that matter? You aren't the boss of me. You aren't Mum."

I yelped as she smacked me across the face, knocking me over and onto the floor and causing my glasses to go flying off my face. My eyes snapped open to see her glaring down at me while Violet and Myrtle looked away awkwardly, pretending that nothing huge had just happened. I glared back at Mari as she then picked me up by the lapels of my jacket and shook me a bit. I kept my mouth shut and held a hand to my now sore cheek. My other hand gripped one of her hands that had my jacket.

"Don't you dare speak her name!" she hissed. "She lost that title long ago."

"Just because she lost it," I spat back, "doesn't make her anything less than that."

Marigold snarled and tossed me back onto the floor. The back of my head whacked against the floor and I could already feel multiple bruises starting to form. I groaned a bit and pressed the palms of my hands to my eyes. I had bit my tongue as well at the impact and I could taste the blood. I turned over a little bit in order to spit it out onto the floor.

Not going to cry. Not going to cry. Not going to cry.

I swallowed hard, returning to laying on my backside, and pressed my hands harder against my eyes until I could see stars. "You think I don't understand?" I gave a sad chuckle and shook my head a bit. "I understand perfectly, Mari. I was there. I almost _died_ because of her. Not that you'd understand. You weren't living in the house anymore so you didn't have to face that godawful day."

There was a knock on the door. "Bluebell!" Mrs. Hudson called through. "Are you all right, dear? I thought I heard a thump. Is your family fine?"

I swallowed and shouted back, "I'm fine, Mrs. Hudson. We're fine. I just had a fall is all. Pure accident!"

"Well, okay then. Try and be more careful."

Once Mrs. Hudson's footsteps were gone Mari said, "Come on. It's time we leave anyway. We actually have lives to attend to unlike Bluebell."

"How the bloody hell do you do it?" I whispered.

I heard my two other sisters rise to their feet as well as Richard. I kept my hands against my eyes even when they walked past. The door opened, but the footsteps stopped as Mari asked, "Do what?"

"Have a family when you're so cruel and violent. You're going to turn them into monsters just like our family was."

Footsteps then sounded out the door and down the steps, but only three pairs. The fourth stayed where she was. "I'm not going to turn them into monsters, Blu. My boys are smart. They make good decisions. I love them and help them along so they can even make better decisions. I act cruel and violent to you, though, because it seems that in our little family of 'monsters', you're the only one who isn't making the correct decisions to have a life. You don't seem to understand, Bluebell. You go off running around with a detective just because you love him. You're twenty-four, Blu. It's time to grow up. Live a real life and stop acting like a pathetic and lovesick idiot."

"I do live a real life," I hissed. "I save lives and I intend to do that alongside Sherlock Holmes until the day I die. I don't do it because I love him. I do it because I can. I don't want other people to end up like our family has become. _Broken_ _and_ _scarred!_"

"You still don't get it, do you?! Leave the damn past alone and move on with your bloody life!" Mari then gave an irritated sigh. "Goodbye, Bluebell. We will be back to discuss this some more another time. Hopefully next time you will actually listen to us and do as we tell you."

"I doubt that," I muttered once she was gone. "I really, _really_ doubt that."

* * *

When Sherlock came in roughly ten minutes later, I was on the couch curled up in a ball staring at my laptop screen as music came forth from it. I had already cleaned up the blood I got on the floor and had put my glasses back on my face. I barely gave Sherlock a glance when he walked into the room, but I had to give a double take when I saw the pink suitcase he held. I stared at his backside with wide eyes as he entered the kitchen and placed it down onto a chair. Even after he took off his coat and scarf and had put them away followed by his black jacket that he placed down on the table, I stared at the brightly pink case.

After a few moments, I brought my attention up to him and slowly sat up. I turned off the music and closed the lid of my laptop. I sat back with my backside against the couch as he came over to me and the sofa. He sat down with his feet at one end and then moved so his bum was in my lap. I brought my hands in the air as he leaned his backside against the pillows and then brought them back down once he was comfortable. I put one down on his chest and the other on his leg where I clenched the material of his black trousers.

"How did your talk with your sisters go?" he casually asked as he closed his eyes. I blinked down at him in surprise. He placed his hands in a prayer position under his chin. He was thinking. "I could smell their perfume the moment I entered the flat. A bit of cologne too so I'm guessing that a husband was here as well."

"It went...fine. Same as always," I admitted. "Mari slapped me, but it could've gone much worse, I guess."

He sighed and cracked open one eye. "She slapped you?"

I nodded. "Yep."

"And you didn't get her back?"

I shrugged and gripped the fabric of his trousers tighter. "Wasn't in the mood to today. I just wanted them to leave so I could be alone. If I'd have slapped back, they'd still be here and one of us would be at the hospital right now. Not much use to the case I am if I would be the one who was put in a hospital."

Sherlock nodded and closed his eye again. "I need to borrow your phone, Blu."

"Well, that would depend. Are you going to get up anytime soon?"

"No. Not at the moment anyway."

"Then I guess I can't help you."

"Why not?" he asked annoyed.

One of his eyes cracked open again and I nodded over towards the floor. He turned his head a bit to stare at where my phone was in the kitchen. "Fell out I guess when I got knocked to the floor. Skidded all the way under the table. Didn't quite realize that she hit me so forcibly. Hope it's not too damaged."

Sherlock frowned. I jumped when he suddenly shouted, "Mrs. Hudson!" No instant reply. She must have gone out. If she heard me when I thudded with the floor and not Sherlock yelling at the top of his lungs, she's either out or something is really wrong with her. "Mrs. Hudson! Phone!"

"Why do you need a phone anyway?" I asked him.

He ignored me. "Reach into my pocket and text John." I rolled my eyes but awkwardly reached into his trouser pocket. It took me a few seconds, since he was pressed up against me, but I was able to get it out. The detective's eye closed as I looked down at him in wait. "These words, Blu. 'Baker Street. Come at once if convenient.'"

I typed the words in as quick as I could and finished it off with his signature SH that he always put at the end of any text. Not sure why he did it since his name would be listed in our phone's contact information as Sherlock Holmes, but he did it anyway. It was almost as if he was proving to us that that was him and not an impostor. I pressed the send button and we waited for the doctor to answer back.

I then realized that, not to my knowledge, Sherlock never got John's number from the man. Instead of asking, though, how he knew, I just shook my head at him. It's his business how he got the number. For all I know, he could've memorized the man's number when he borrowed John's phone yesterday at the hospital. Not going to ask.

"You better hope we aren't bothering John, Sherlock," I murmured as the seconds ticked by and he still hadn't responded back yet.

"I need his phone," he answered. "Now text him, 'If convenient, come anyway.'"

"He hasn't answered yet to the first one."

"Just do it, Blu."

I rolled my eyes and moved my hands and the phone onto his chest as I texted John again what Sherlock told me. "You're so lazy," I muttered at him once I pressed send.

"You always say that, Bluebell, and yet you always seem to do things for me."

I pulled up the internet on his phone as I gave a roll of my eyes. I went onto my email and looked to see if I had any new ones. Just a few from some websites I like to go on but that was it. Nothing really exciting. I exited out of it and went back to waiting for John's text reply.

"One day I won't be there to do whatever it is that comes from your mouth," I told him. "I'm not your pet, you know. I don't always listen or come when called. I do it because I want to and because I care about you."

This time both his eyes opened. He blinked a few times before peering up at me. His mouth turned into a frown. "I never said you were, Blu."

I sighed. "I know, I know."

His frown deepened more in concern. "Were you talking with Donovan again?"

"No...maybe. More like arguing," I murmured. "Almost had a fight with her too." I gave another sigh. "It's been such an eventful day. Dealing with my aunt, moving out, Donovan, the dead pink lady, and then my sisters. What's worse is the day isn't over yet. Anything else you want me to text John?"

"Yes. Tell him. 'Could be dangerous'."

I did what Sherlock asked and placed his phone back into his pocket once I finished. I then leaned my head back and closed my eyes. My fingers went back to gripping his trousers, but they were more relaxed this time as I slowed down my breathing.

* * *

I think I must've fallen asleep because when my eyes opened again, John was just opening the door and stepping inside. I rubbed at my eyes to get the tiredness out of them before giving the doctor a wide smile. Sherlock was still on me and the couch. His eyes were wide open and his face looked relaxed. In front of my face was one of his balled fists. My gaze moved down to the arm that was connected to the fist and saw three round patches that were stuck to his skin. I frowned, but didn't say anything. He must have gotten them when I fell asleep. The hand connected to the arm with the patches turned from a balled fist to a relaxed position, really indicating that they were now working on him. His other hand fell back from the patches and moved to his chest.

I didn't mind when he would lay on me, whether just because he wanted to or because he was thinking, but I hated it when he did it with the patches. I didn't approve of any type of drugs or cigarettes or his patches. He knew that too, but I guess the case was so bad that he didn't really care, not that he ever did. He did have on three of them. I could be in the middle of typing up an email and he'd move the device out of my hand just to lay down on me and the couch so he could think. We had such a complex relationship. I wonder if this is what friends really do with one another...

I'd have to ask Jim when I got the chance.

"What are you doing?" John asked, shutting the door. He eyed us carefully, seeing the position we were in, but more Sherlock in particular and his patches.

Sherlock continued to stare at the ceiling as he calmly replied, "Nicotine patch." He brought the sleeve covering the arm higher up so John could see them all clearly. "Helps me think. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work," Sherlock added on, pronouncing the 'k' in work with a click.

"It's good news for breathing," John responded.

I pointed at the doctor and gave him a thumbs up. "I agree wholeheartedly, John!"

"Uh, breathing! Breathing's boring," the detective told us.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm so sorry that you're alive, Sherlock. I didn't realize that it was such a burden for you. Let me just go and buy your gravestone for you and then help put you out of your misery."

John moved closer towards us, his eyes narrowed a bit and his eyebrows scrunched together. He carefully eyed Sherlock's arm. "Is that three patches?"

Sherlock moved his hands together into his prayer position beneath his chin. "It's a three-patch problem."

Sherlock sighed softly and closed his eyes. I rolled my own and shook my head. John continued to stare down at him before giving the window a quick glance. I tilted my head a bit and raised an eyebrow in confusion just as he looked back over at us.

"Well?" he asked Sherlock. He waited for the man to answer, but he didn't. "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He slightly glanced at John out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

"Sorry," I instantly told John.

John looked up at the blank wall above Sherlock's and my head. He appeared a little irritated as well as confused. He looked back down at the detective after a moment. "My phone?"

Sherlock gazed back up at the ceiling. "Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website."

"Mrs Hudson's got a phone..."

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear."

"Blu's got a phone," he tried again, this time a bit angry.

"It was on the floor in the kitchen and I didn't want to pick it up," he told him.

"Sorry!" I said again. I bit my lip when I saw how angry John was getting.

"I was the other side of London."

"There was no hurry," Sherlock replied.

John glared at him and shook his head just slightly. After a few moments of him just staring down at Sherlock, probably trying to contemplate whether it was worth his time to hurt the man or not, he dug his phone out of his jacket pocket.

"Here," the man told Sherlock.

John put out his phone for the detective to take from him. Without opening his eyes, Sherlock put up a hand with the palm near his face. John's frown deepened when Sherlock made no other move to grab it from. He angrily stepped forward and slapped the phone into the detective's hand. As he started to turn and walk away, Sherlock put the phone between his hands. He brought his hands back up into a prayer position beneath his chin, except this time with the phone held tightly in the middle.

"So what's this about – the case?" John asked.

"Her case," Sherlock replied softly.

John turned around to stare at him again. "Her case?"

Sherlock opened his eyes to stare up at the ceiling. "Her suitcase, yes, obviously." He sounded annoyed that John wasn't quite getting it. "The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake."

"Okay, he took her case. So?"

Under his breath, Sherlock replied, "It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it." His voice got louder as he said to John, "On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text."

John stared at Sherlock as the man grabbed the phone between his hands and held it up for the doctor to take back. John gave a tight-lipped smile. "You brought me here...to send a text?"

"Sorry," I whispered for the third time.

"Text, yes. The number on my desk."

I stared at John as he glowered down at Sherlock. Sherlock appeared oblivious to the look the doctor was currently giving him as he continued to hold the phone out for him. After a few moments of John just glaring at Sherlock, he eventually stomped across the room and snatched the phone from Sherlock's outstretched hand. Sherlock instantly brought his hands back together and placed them under his chin again in the prayer position.

John turned, about to go towards Sherlock's desk and his number, but brought his attention back over to the window. He looked a bit distracted. He gazed at it for a few seconds before deciding to walk over to it. John leaned close to the glass and peered out of it into the street below. Sherlock's eyes opened and glanced towards where John was now standing.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked.

Without looking away from the window, he said, "Just met a friend of yours."

"A friend?" Sherlock asked confused. He glanced at me and I gave a shrug.

"An enemy."

Sherlock relaxed a bit. "Oh. Which one?"

John finally turned his head to stare at Sherlock. "Your archenemy, according to him. Do people have archenemies?"

I groaned. "Not him again!"

Sherlock looked back at John again. His eyes narrowed somewhat suspiciously. "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

John looked confused. "No."

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time," he told John. "You _and_ Blu really."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "Excuse me for punching the man in the face. He was offering me money to spy on my only friend."

John blinked. "You punched him in the face for asking you to spy on Sherlock?"

I shook my head. "I punched him in the face for wanting me to spy on Sherlock _and_ for bringing my family into the conversation as well as the word blackmail. Obviously he learned his lesson this time when it came to you." John gave a small smile, probably imagining me trying to punch the man. I gave him a wink. "I might not look it, John, but I've got quite a punch when angry enough."

"Who is he?" John asked us.

I went to answer, but Sherlock cut me off by softly saying, "The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now." I shook my head at him. His voice grew more loudly. "On my desk, the number."

John gave Sherlock another irritated glance before walking over towards the man's desk. He picked up the piece of paper that sat there and read it aloud, "Jennifer Wilson?" He blinked and eyed the paper more closely. "That was... Hang on." He stared over at us. "Wasn't that the dead woman?"

Sherlock kept his eyes closed. "Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number." John and I in unison shook our heads at him. The doctor went back to putting in the number. "Are you doing it?"

John gave Sherlock a quick look before returning his attention to his phone screen. "Yes."

"Have you done it?" Sherlock asked impatiently. I glared at the detective.

"Ye... hang on!" John exclaimed, glaring over at Sherlock.

After another few seconds, Sherlock told him, "These words exactly: 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out.'" John gave Sherlock a small brief glance as he started to text what the detective was saying to him. He appeared a bit concerned. "'Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'"

John started to text more of what was said to him, but he looked over at Sherlock again with a confused frown at his words. "You blacked out?"

Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts. "What? No. No!" Sherlock flipped his legs off of the couch and rose to his feet. I frowned as he just casually walked onto the table, dirtying the papers that were there, and moving onto the other side. At least he didn't step on my laptop...again. He went over towards the kitchen. "Type and send it. Quickly."

Now that he was off of me, I stood to my feet as well and cracked my muscles. Sherlock really was heavy when he wished to be. I wonder how much he weighed? Never really thought to ask before. I just always seemed to accept him getting on top of me like it was nothing. Sometimes I did it to him too, but only when he wasn't in the middle of a case. Usually I'd only just rest my head on his shoulder or against his backside, like I had done earlier on today.

Sherlock grabbed the pink suitcase from the kitchen and brought it back over to us. "Have you sent it?"

"What's the address?" John asked as Sherlock pulled over a chair.

I found a spot on the floor between the two chairs that surrounded the fireplace. I brought my legs together and sat Indian Style as I watched Sherlock and John. It was so interesting to watch the two interact. They talked and bickered like an old married couple.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street," Sherlock told him impatiently. He placed the chair down in front of the black chair by the fireplace. He took a seat in the black chair and placed the suitcase on the other chair before him. "Hurry up!"

As John finished the message, he glanced over just as Sherlock unzipped the bag and opened it. I scooted closer and glanced inside. I stuck out my tongue at the sight of even more pink clothes in the bag. My nose scrunched up. Did this woman have a pink obsession or something? There were a few things that weren't pink, but they of course weren't clothes. Every single article of clothing this woman had in her bag was pink.

John blinked and fully turned to stare at us and the bag. Sherlock intertwined his fingers together and stared intently at the contents of the suitcase. "That's...that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case," John pointed out.

"Yes, obviously," Sherlock told him. I gave a grin as John continued to stare at the bag and gave Sherlock a few brief glances every couple moments. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, perhaps I should mention: I didn't kill her," Sherlock said as he looked up at John. "I nor Bluebell for that matter."

"I never said either of you did."

"Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact I that have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption."

John blinked a few times. "Do people usually assume you're the murderer?"

I laughed loudly as Sherlock smirked up at him. "Now and then, yes."

"Him more so than me," I told John as Sherlock placed his hands on the armrests of the seat and lifted his body up. He brought his feet under his body and crouched on the chair. His hands clasped together again and he pressed them up against his mouth as he went back to staring at the suitcase. "Some don't think I'm really capable of doing it and would only be an accomplice if at all."

"Okay...," John said. He moved over to the chair across from Sherlock and dropped heavily into it. "How did you get this?"

I glanced up at Sherlock. "Yeah. Where did you get this? You weren't here when I got back home earlier and I never really did get the chance to ask."

"By looking."

"Where?" we asked him.

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case," he pointed down at the case with his two index fingers, "without drawing attention to themselves – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?" John asked whilst looking at him.

"Well, it had to be pink, obviously," Sherlock answered.

"Why didn't I think of that?" John said to himself sarcastically.

"Because you're an idiot." John brought his attention up to stare at Sherlock in surprise. Sherlock made a placatory gesture with one hand at him. "No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is." I gave Sherlock an irritated look. Sherlock ignored me and brought his hands together again. He pointed once more at the case with both index fingers. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing?"

"From the case? How could we?" John asked.

"Her phone," I instantly said, earning a startled look from John. I glanced at him and blinked. "What? Is it not obvious? You just texted her phone, did you not?"

Sherlock seemed to smirk a bit. "Maybe you're not _all_ idiots." I grinned back and sat up straighter from the compliment. It's not every day he gives one. It feels like such an accomplishment when he does. "As Blu pointed out, John, her phone. Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one – that's her number there; you just texted it." He indicated John's phone which sat on one of his armrests.

John gave us both a look. "Maybe she left it at home."

Sherlock put his hands on the armrests again to lift him up once more. This time he brought his feet down so they touched the floor and he was sitting in the chair properly. "She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home."

"Er..." John looked at down at his phone. "Why did I just send that text?"

I shrugged. "Why not?"

Sherlock brought his hands together again under his chin. "Well, the question is: where is her phone now?"

"She could have lost it," John said.

"Yes, or...?"

John glanced away as a thought hit him. Slowly he said, "The murderer... You think the murderer has the phone?"

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."

"Sorry," John began, getting confused again. He started to shake his head, "what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer? What good will that do?"

At that exact moment, his phone rang. All of our eyes moved onto the phone. John grabbed the device and scanned the screen, but he didn't pick up on the person calling him. The doctor looked over at Sherlock as it continued to ring.

"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her," Sherlock told him. "If somebody had just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer..." Sherlock paused dramatically as the phone stopped ringing, "would _panic._" I jumped as the detective suddenly flipped the lid of the suitcase closed. I then quickly scrambled after him when he rose up to his feet. He grabbed his jacket and started to pull it on to him.

"Have you talked to the police?" John asked, looking up at us.

"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police," Sherlock told him, buttoning up the jacket.

I rolled my eyes. "Sherlock, we can't just do that. We'll probably just regret it later. Besides, Lestrade will have our heads for it."

Sherlock waved me off. I frowned at him and crossed my arms. I gave an irritated huff. I hated when he just waved my words off like that like they weren't important.

"So why are you talking to _me?_" John demanded.

"Mrs Hudson took my skull," he told the doctor.

"Did she?" I spun around and stared over at the fireplace. I grinned at the sight of the missing thing and laughed a bit. "I love that woman so much!"

Sherlock this time narrowed his eyes at me and gave a hard frown. "What's wrong with my skull?"

I shrugged casually and stared down at my nails, pretending to study them in order to avoid the question. He loved that skull too much for his own good. I think he and it needed some good time apart from the other.

"So I'm basically filling in for your skull?" John asked, eyeing where the skull usually sat as well.

"More or less," I told him

As Sherlock put on his black coat he added, "Relax, you're doing fine." When John stayed put and didn't move he asked, "Well?"

"Well what?" John asked back confused and annoyed.

"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly." I gave a grin when he said the word telly. He made it seem like it was something bad and stupid.

"What, you want me to come with you?" John looked back at us.

"I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud," Sherlock said as he put on his scarf. "The skull just attracts attention, so..."

John looked away with a small smile as I smacked the detective on the arm. "Hey! I always go out with you!"

"Yes, and you tend to ignore me a lot by putting in your headphones," he countered.

I opened my mouth to reply to that, but closed it after a moment. Yeah...he was right. I did like to drown him out with music when he talked way too much. I could only take in so much of his chatter before my brain felt like exploding.

After a moment I just rolled my eyes and said, "You just want John along so you can sound smart compared to him."

He frowned. "Do not."

"Do to!"

"Is this how you two always behave?" John asked us, pointing at the two of us. He moved his finger from Sherlock to me.

I nodded. "A good majority of the time."

He sighed. "You act like brother and sister."

I shrugged. "Well, I do think of him as my brother at times. Never had one so it's oddly fitting, I guess."

"I thought you said you were friends?"

"You can be friends with a sibling," I pointed out.

John started to smile again and shake his head a bit. Sherlock looked at him curiously. "Problem?"

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan."

I groaned. "Don't mention that woman!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but only I noticed. "What about her?"

"She said, you get off on this. You enjoy it," he told him. He then nodded in my direction. "And remember, Blu, how she said you always follow him around and do what he says because you apparently love him."

Luckily Sherlock couldn't see me, since I was behind him, when I stiffened up. As I swallowed, John gave me a strange look. One of his eyebrows went up a little.

"Course I love him," I forced out. "I love him like a brother."

Sherlock still didn't seem to notice anything wrong with me as he told John, "And I said dangerous...and here you are."

I shook my head a bit as Sherlock turned and walked out of the room. I hurried after him and behind us we both heard John exclaim, "Damn it!" His footsteps then quickly followed after us as I laughed at the poor man.

* * *

**Okay. Earlier update than usual because I was forced to get up for something stupid that never even happened. Quite unhappy so I'll probably go to back to bed after I finish this up. Didn't really skim through and edit like usual, so sorry if there are any mistakes. I'll read through this chapter later when I'm actually awake and can understand what I was trying to say.**

**Well, Blu's sisters…and that's only three of them. Which, speaking of them, at first I wasn't even going to make Mari be cruel…but I changed my mind since obviously Blu and her family have gone through something traumatic in their past and I wanted to show how much it really affected some of them (we've already seen Bluebell's reactions a couple times). It is kind of sad, though, since Mari is the eldest in the family and Blu (which I'm mentioning now) is technically the youngest. I think when I wrote down the sisters' ages there is roughly a twelve year difference between those two. **

**Also, notice all of their names yet? Bluebell, Marigold, Violet, Mrytle, and then Aunt Lily (plus there are more sisters and aunts). And then there's the fact that we know, at least, Blu's a nature expert. There are reasons, I promise. Everything has a reason in this story. I've really got this thing planned out. **

**Other than that, we're kind of getting more hints with what happened…sort of. It's only the fourth chapter, though. I've got to be mysterious, haha. Plus being mysterious is fun. **

**Anywho, anyone like my two small parts I put in about Blu? **

**The first with Sherlock somehow always just casually sitting on her/lying on her when he wants to or just to think. It was too good to pass up. They've been together for five years which means they're at least comfortable around another. I figured that he would just do this without really thinking about it instead of asking for her to move. I don't know. My thoughts, I guess. Something I can see him doing.**

**The other is my absolute favorite part that I just added in casually but thought hysterical. The part of Bluebell once punching Sherlock's archenemy in the face. This is the part that being the reader is great. You already know that the archenemy is Mycroft Holmes where John just thinks it's some random man. Makes it funnier, right? **

**So, once I get more sleep, I'll probably post links on my profile under the one on Bluebell to give you an idea of who I am basing these sisters off of and Richard. **

**Also, I forgot to mention this last chapter, the small bit on the poem that Blu quotes from is called 'The Pink Coat' by Alyssa Ray. If you want to read the entire thing, just type it in Google. Took me forever just to find something to work with that scene. **

**Anywho, comments are greatly appreciated. Let me know your thoughts, please and thank-a you. Off to bed! **


	5. Chapter 5: Welcome to London

"Where are we going?" John asked as we walked down the road.

I shrugged and nodded towards the detective. "No idea. Just following blindly like usual."

"Northumberland Street's a five-minute walk from here," Sherlock casually explained.

"You think he's stupid enough to go there?" John asked.

Sherlock grinned. "No – I think he's brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones. They're always so desperate to get caught."

"Why?"

I laughed. "Why not?"

John gave me a look. "Do you always give that answer?"

"Only when I'm a little unsure as to what's going on, John."

"Appreciation!" Sherlock cut in. We both looked over at him as he explained. "Applause! At long last the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, John, Blu: it needs an audience.

John just looked at him. "Yeah..."

I raised an eyebrow and poked Sherlock in the arm, earning a swat from him. "Take the words from the man who's familiar with this himself, correct?"

Sherlock seemed to ignore both of us as he spun once around, his eyes darting everywhere. "This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go." I jumped when he suddenly brought his hands up to both sides of his head to focus his thoughts. I hated when he did something like that with no warning. John just gave us both confused looks. No idea why he didn't jump. "Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them?" He lowered his hands and brought them back to his sides. "Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"

"Dunno. Who?" John asked, looking at Sherlock for the answer.

I blinked over at the detective as well, waiting for him to respond. He just brought his hands together up to his mouth in thought. He stared unblinking ahead of him with a blank face.

In the end he just shrugged and said, "Haven't the faintest. Hungry?"

John and I glanced at each other, but silently followed the detective towards the restaurant that he was leading us to. I smiled at the waiter near the door as Sherlock opened it. Billy gave me a nod back before gesturing us over to the table.

"Thank you, Billy," Sherlock told the man.

I nodded in agreement. "Yes. Thank you, Billy." The grin on Billy's face lingered there for a few extra seconds before he grabbed the reserved sign and finally walked away and out of sight.

Sherlock immediately took his coat off and sat down on the bench seat at the side of the table. As I let John get into the booth first before me, Sherlock instantly turned his head sideways so he could see clearly out of the window. I sat down beside the doctor and across from the detective once John was sitting down. In sync the two of us took off our jackets as well like Sherlock had and placed them between us.

Sherlock nodded towards a building across from the restaurant. His eyes remained fixed on it. "Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it."

"You can't do it yourself?" I asked, nodding at him. His eyes gazed out onto the street and he didn't even glance over at us when he talked. "It seems like a one person job."

That got him, though, to give me a pointed look. What skill I have! "Blu..."

John quickly cut in, "He isn't just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He'd need to be mad."

"He has killed four people," Sherlock said, turning his attention back to the window and the road outside of it.

"Okay..."

I waved over at Angelo, the owner of the restaurant, with a wide smile as he came over. "Sherlock," he said as he and the detective shook hands. Once he released Sherlock's hand he smiled down at me and ruffled my hair. "Hello, little flower."

"Angelo," I laughed. I playfully swatted at his hand until he moved it off of my head. He laughed back at me.

Angelo turned back to Sherlock. "Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free," he said as he put down a menu in front of the detective. "On the house, for you and for your date," he added on as he gave John a quick once over and handed the doctor one as well.

I snorted into my hand.

"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked John.

John ignored him, seeming to now fully understand what it was that Angelo said. "I'm not his date."

Angelo didn't seem to hear him as he continued on, pointing at Sherlock. "This man got me off a murder charge." He then ruffled my hair again. "And of course his precious little flower helped as well."

My cheeks turned red and grew hot as I swatted at Angelo's hand again. Once he pulled his hand away, I awkwardly fixed my hair back into place. He laughed at me again. He always loved to make me blush for some reason.

"This is Angelo," Sherlock introduced to John, indicating the man in front of us with a pointed index finger. Angelo smiled at John and offered his hand for the doctor to take. As John shook it, Sherlock turned back to the window. "Three years ago Blu and I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town housebreaking."

"They cleared my name."

Sherlock gave him a quick glance. "We cleared it a bit." I frowned at the detective. "Anything happening opposite?"

"Nothing," Angelo told Sherlock before returning his attention back to John. "But for this man and his little flower, I'd have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison," Sherlock corrected him.

I lightly kicked at Sherlock's legs under the table, earning a slight wince from the dark haired man. "_Sherlock_," I hissed. "Manners!"

Angelo seemed to ignore Sherlock's comment. "I'll get a candle for the table," he said to John. "It's more romantic." He then glanced down at me confused. "Though I'm not sure why you'd be here with them on their date, Blu." Before I could correct him, Angelo just shrugged and walked off.

"I'm not his date!" John called after the man annoyed.

As John huffed about the mistake, and I laughed at him, Sherlock picked up his menu from the table and moved it farther from him and over to me. I just left it where it lie. I didn't need to see the menu. I ordered the same thing whenever I came here and Angelo knew that. A nice bowl of pasta. Yum. Angelo's restaurant didn't have many options for me to choose from since I was a vegetarian and allergic to a few things, so I tried to stick with what I knew tasted best.

"You may as well eat," he told John. "We might have a long wait."

Angelo then came back at that moment and placed a small glass down on the table with a candle inside. John scowled at it while Angelo just gave the doctor a thumbs up. He didn't quite seem to notice the look John was giving him.

"Thanks," John said sarcastically as Angelo walked away. I shook my head a bit with a small smile as John then picked up his menu and started to study it.

A little later, after John and I had and have been eating our plates of food (mine was almost gone), John suddenly looked up at Sherlock as a thought hit him. The detective didn't pay him any attention as he quietly drummed his fingers on the table. His gaze was still focused on the road outside.

"People don't have archenemies," John said to him.

Sherlock gave John a quick glance, not fully hearing him. He slowly pulled his attention away from the window to look at the doctor. "I'm sorry?"

"In real life," John told him. "There are no archenemies in real life. Doesn't happen."

Sherlock went back to looking out of the window. "Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull."

"Besides, John," I started, "these two are probably the only exception to that fact of life. As long as I've known the two of them, I can gladly agree with Sherlock that he would be considered his archenemy."

"So who did I meet?" John questioned us, mostly looking at me, though, since he knew I'd probably be the one to answer.

"What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives'?" Sherlock asked, ignoring answering the question. He looked over at John for his response.

"Friends," John told him as if it was simple. "People they know, people they like, people they don't like... Girlfriends, boyfriends..."

"Yes, well, as I was saying – dull."

I glowered at the detective and kicked at his legs again. He gave another wince and returned my heated look. He kicked me back before turning to the window again.

"You think I'm dull?!" I demanded.

"Never said that."

"Yes you did! You said that friends and such are dull!"

He frowned and gave me a quick glance. "I thought you'd know better than anyone that you are probably the one exception to that, Blu. You're my little flower," he teased, earning a blush from me and a surprised blink.

John awkwardly coughed as he went back to eating his food. He quickly cut in, "You don't have a girlfriend, then?" to Sherlock.

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

"Mm," John said with a nod.

I awkwardly averted my eyes when the doctor seemed to glance over at me at Sherlock's words. I stared down at my food, my appetite suddenly gone. I quietly moved around the pasta on my dish from one side of the plate to the other.

"Oh, right," John said in thought. "D'you have a boyfriend?" He continued. When he saw the look Sherlock was giving him he quickly added on, "Which is fine, by the way."

"I know it's fine," Sherlock said unfazed.

John gave an awkward smile to hopefully ease the tension. I laughed quietly, but sadly, as I stabbed at a piece of pasta and watched as it slid right off the fork and back onto the plate. When John gave me another glance, I forced a smile and tried my best to meet his blue orbs. His eyes narrowed a little back and his eyebrows scrunched together as I saw him trying to study me.

After a few moments of him just staring at me, the doctor slowly looked back over at Sherlock. "So you've got a boyfriend then?"

Sherlock himself was still staring at John. "No," he cut in.

"Right. Okay… You're unattached. Like me." John quickly looked down at his plate of food. "Fine." He cleared his throat and fixed his position in his seat. "Good."

John went back to eating with his eyes on his food. Sherlock tried to go back to watching out of the window, but for some reason his eyes kept traveling over to the doctor. I could tell from his eyes that he was clearly thinking about something. I carefully watched the two whilst bringing up my glass of water to my lips and drinking from it. After a few seconds of nobody saying anything, Sherlock turned his head fully again to stare directly at John. He hesitantly glanced down at the table.

"John, um…" he started, earning the doctor's attention. Sherlock brought his eyes back up and locked with John's orbs. He started to speak faster. "I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest…"

I spit the water I had in my mouth back into the glass. I pounded a hand on my chest as I started to cough. Neither gave me a glance of concern.

What?! Where the hell did that come from?

"No," John quickly interrupted. He shook his head.

"I'm really not looking for any…" Sherlock continued. I probably would've flinched again at his words, but I still couldn't quite breathe from the choking I was doing.

"No, I'm not asking," John quickly told him. "No," he shook his head again. "I'm just saying, it's all fine."

"Good," Sherlock said, returning his gaze to the window. "Thank you."

"So what about you, Blu?" John turned to look over at me. His eyes instantly turned wide when he saw me coughing and still trying to breathe. "Are you all right?"

I waved him off but he tried to get closer to see what was wrong. "Fine. Just fine. Water went down the wrong pipe," I quickly lied.

John didn't quite look convinced at my lie. He quickly brought his hand to my back and pounded on it in order to help me breathe. By this point, even now Sherlock was giving us quick glances.

I scooted from John and waved him off again. "I'm fine. Really! Sheesh, John. I'm not going to die or anything. It was just water." John moved back to his original position, but wouldn't stop staring at me. "And to answer your question, no I do not have a boyfriend and I definitely don't have a girlfriend since I do not roll that way. And you want to know why don't I have a boyfriend?" I didn't mean to, but my voice got a little louder as I slowly grew angry. "Because every time I somehow find someone who could possibly become my boyfriend, they always end up meeting _him_," I roughly gestured over at Sherlock with my chin. He rolled his eyes in response, "and instantly leave me because he upsets them for deducing bloody things about them."

"I hardly see how that's my fault," he said.

"How the bloody hell do you not see it?" I demanded. "They like me and want to be with me. They meet you and want to leave. Someone here is at fault, Sherlock, and it's not me!"

"Obviously it's their faults," he answered. "If they actually like you like you say they do, then my deductions about them shouldn't upset them so easily to make them want to leave you."

I glowered at him. Under the table my fists were tightly clenching at my jeans. "Or you could just stop making deductions about them in general! Better yet, stop somehow meeting them! I don't know how it happens, but it does. _Every single time!_" I turned to look over at John who was awkwardly trying to finish his food and stay out of our conversation. "I had at least three out of five of those guys think that Sherlock and I were a couple. They then got angry at _me_ for letting them meet _Sherlock._ They thought I was trying to embarrass them by letting Sherlock deduce things about them."

How the hell am I supposed to move on from the horrible love I hold for this man when he keeps scaring them all away?! I'm trying! Really, I am! But fate appears to have other plans for me.

I wanted to continue to lash out at Sherlock, but he suddenly nodded at the window. The anger I held instantly vanished at the look in his eyes. He saw something. The murderer perhaps?

"Look across the street. Taxi." I glanced just out of the corner of my eye while John turned his head fully around to look. Right on the side of the road was a parked taxi with its rear facing us. "Stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out." Sherlock's voice grew soft as he spoke more to himself. "Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?"

"No, it's clever," I said to him with a nod. "Perfect disguise. It blends in with the environment perfectly. No one would think twice about it. It's just another car."

"That's him?" John asked.

"I'd think," I murmured. "Has to be, right? What taxi would stop for no one to get in or out?"

"Don't stare," Sherlock told John who was openly staring like himself.

"What? You're staring." John looked over at Sherlock.

"We can't all stare," he told the doctor.

"And when he says that, he means you two," I said to John, giving a quick glance at the doctor. "Don't be so open with your staring next time around."

I jumped out of the booth with my jacket when Sherlock suddenly grabbed his coat and scarf and headed over towards the door. I darted after him, giving Billy a nod as I passed him, and moved out the door with John right on my heels as he pulled on his own coat.

Outside of the restaurant, Sherlock was gazing intently at the taxi as he started to pull on his coat. The passenger in the back slowly turned around and spotted us. The man stared at us for a good few seconds before looking forward again. The cab started up instantly once he was facing forward and began to drive off.

Seeing that the taxi was getting away, Sherlock dashed after it. At that exact moment a car drove forth at him. I grinned a little as Sherlock easily slid right over the vehicle without even getting hurt in one fluid motion. John followed Sherlock's example and went over the car's hood while I ran around the front of it.

"Sorry!" John and I both yelled at the driver of the car.

When we got to the detective he had slowed to a halt once the car sped up, making it near impossible to follow behind it. Sherlock stared at it and I could tell he knew that we couldn't reach it like this.

"I've got the cab number," John told him.

"Good for you," Sherlock replied.

His hands then came up on both sides of his head. My smile widened while John gave him a confused look. John went to speak again, but I grabbed his arm. Once I earned his attention, I shook my head a little bit and put a finger to my lips.

I knew that face of his. I've seen it many times before during my five years of being with him. He was thinking, probably trying to figure out a quick and easy way for us to catch up with the cab to get to the man inside of it. Sherlock's talked about his brain before to me. He's said how it's complicated and always needing to be kept preoccupied so he stuffs as much useful information as he can inside of it, knowing that one day he'll need it.

His brain is basically like a kid on a sugar rush. Always thinking and never stopping. It's on overdrive all the time. To Sherlock, we have the simpleminded brains compared to him whereas he has the always thinking, never sleeping one.

Sometimes I do wonder, though, what it would be like inside of his mind. I would love to see how he thinks and processes things. The things he remembers that are in his, what he calls, hard drive. It'd be a fascinating experience to live the life of Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes, even if for a day. I know _what_ he thinks, but I wish to know _how_ he thinks. I want to see how he processes the things he does.

I snapped out of my thoughts as Sherlock started to give off his own thoughts at rapid-fire. "Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights."

Sherlock's eyes opened and his head came up a little. He lowered his hands and looked ahead at something. I followed his gaze and saw him staring at a man unlocking a door and stepping inside to one of the nearby buildings. Without a word said, Sherlock instantly ran over to the man with John and I following after him.

My eyes widened when I saw him grab at the man."Sherlock!" I exclaimed as he shoved him out of the way.

The detective ignored me and the man, even when the man shouted, "Oi!" at us.

John raised a hand at the man and said, "Sorry," before we trailed into the building after Sherlock.

The three of us raced up one staircase and then up another which was a metal spiral one and led up to the rooftop. Though Sherlock was taking the steps almost two at a time, I slowed down a bit when I noticed that John was slowly trying to make his way after us as quick as he could. I paused on the step I was on and waited until he was only one behind me before moving at John's pace behind Sherlock.

"Come on, Blu, John," Sherlock told us, already up near the roof.

Once John and I were up on the rooftop with Sherlock, we dashed after the detective as he looked about. He quickly ran over to the side of the roof and started to go down another metal spiral staircase that was there with John and I doing our best to keep up with him.

I really, really, really, hate stairs. I say we get rid of them and use only elevators.

We went only a flight down of stairs before Sherlock decided to climb the railing and leap across to the next building. I let John go first over the railing and then I followed suit. Sherlock barely waited for us before dashing off again. He ran to the edge of the roof, jumping a few obstacles in his way, and then leaped right across onto the roof of the next building. I didn't notice as John skidded to a sudden halt before me so I quickly had to fall backwards as I registered what he had done in order not to knock the doctor forward and down to the ground below. I hissed at the rough marks on my hands and the blood that was slowly starting to flow from a few small wounds. I hurriedly wiped my hands on my jeans and ran past John, leaping over the distance between the rooftops like it was no I glanced back at the doctor, he was staring at the space between the two rooftops and the distance from where he stood to the pavement down below.

"Come _on_, John. We're losing him!" Sherlock shouted back at him from his spot beside me.

"Don't think about it," I yelled. "Just jump!"

I saw John give a small nod. He took a few steps back, quickly braced himself for the jump, and then charged ahead. I smiled as he easily jumped the gap and gave him two thumbs up. Sherlock instantly started forward again once John was on our side. I followed him right on his heels with John on mine as the detective dropped onto a walkway along the side of the building. I groaned as we went down another metal staircase before making it to a ledge and dropping down into the alleyway below. As soon as our feet hit pavement, John and I were dashing off after the curly black haired detective who was rushing down the alleyway.

As we neared the end of the alleyway, the cab suddenly passed us by. "Ah, no!" Sherlock angrily exclaimed. He didn't even break stride as he immediately turned right with me following him."This way."

I glanced quickly behind me when I didn't hear another pair of footsteps trailing along behind Sherlock and me. "John!" I yelled at the doctor. He was going the other way, dashing after the cab.

Sherlock gave a quick glance as well at the man. "No, _this_ way!"

John instantly turned around and raced after us. "Sorry."

John was quickly able to catch up with the detective and me as we continued to run down the street. I think at this point all of us were running on adrenaline. My breathing was fine, but I was starting to feel it right in my legs the pain from running so much and stitches in my stomach. No clue how else I could still be running. I hadn't had the chance to exercise for days and if I knew we were to be running so much today, I would've stretched and not eaten so much. My hands were still burning from my fall earlier and I felt close to vomiting up my pasta from Angelo's restaurant.

Sherlock soon led us into another alleyway and then another and then a few side streets. By this point I was ready to collapse. Hopefully we ran into the taxi this time instead of being passed by. I'm not sure if I would be able to run any further if we had to go another good couple blocks.

I think my prayers were, sort of, answered when Sherlock suddenly quickened his pace and ran right out into the street. I winced as the cab rammed straight into him as it pulled to a stop, knocking him slightly to the side. Sherlock instantly got back up to his feet, as if the taxi hadn't even fazed him, and scrabbled in his left coat pocket.

Sherlock pulled out an I.D. badge and flashed it at the driver as he ran to the right hand side of the cab. "Police! Open her up!"

John and I came up beside him, breathing just as heavily as Sherlock, as the detective wrenched open the car door. He bent over a little and stared the passenger directly in the face. The man in the cab stared back anxiously, probably wondering what the heck we were doing. Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh after a moment and straightened back up into a full standing position.

Sherlock shook his head. "No." He leaned back down and gave the man another look. "Teeth, tan: what – Californian?" Sherlock gave the floor of the cab a glance. "L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived."

"How can you _possibly_ know that?" John asked him for us. I pointed at John over my shoulder and nodded furiously. Since I couldn't breathe, I figured I'd allow John to do all the talking for now.

"The luggage," Sherlock explained annoyed. He pointed down at the suitcase at the floor of the man's feet. "Uh, probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?"

I wanted to laugh at the man's expression, which still showed how confused he was by us, but I still couldn't catch my breath. "Sorry – are you guys the police?"

"Yeah." He flashed the I.D. badge he had briefly at the man, not giving him a good chance to look at it. "Everything all right?

The passenger smiled a little. "Yeah."

Sherlock gave a pause. He then faked a smile at the man and said, "Welcome to London."

The detective immediately walked away. I stayed behind with John. We both gave the other a quick glance before staring over at the passenger who was staring back. When no one spoke nor moved, I stepped behind the doctor and pushed him forward at the taxi and the man inside. He stumbled for a second, but caught himself as he leaned in towards the man.

"Er, any problems, just let us know," John told the American.

John gave one last smile before shutting the door. As he walked off to Sherlock who stood a few yards away, I forced a smile at the passenger through the glass and gave two thumbs up. The man gave me a confused look in response and I quickly saluted him before dashing off to where John and Sherlock stood together.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down," John said to Sherlock as I came up to them.

Sherlock still looked annoyed that he had been wrong. He gave the cab a glance. "Basically."

John shook his head a little. "Not the murderer."

Sherlock grew exasperated. "Not the murderer, no."

"Wrong country, good alibi."

"As they go."

John looked down at Sherlock's hand just as the dark haired man switched the I.D. card he had from one hand to the other. "Hey, where-where did you get this? Here." Sherlock glanced down at the hand with the card as the doctor reached down for it. Sherlock released the grip he had on the I.D. and looked up at John. "Right." John looked down at the card and silently read it. He turned back to Sherlock and asked, "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying," Sherlock admitted. I smacked his arm, but he pretended that I hadn't even touched him as he nodded at the card in John's hand. I guess my smack wasn't going to do much damage right now considering he pretty much got hit by two cars today. "You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat. And I've already given Blu three."

"I've told you," I said, still through heavy breaths. Sheesh this was embarrassing, "to stop with the pickpocketing, Sherlock. It's _rude!_"

"You okay?" John asked me concerned when he saw how bad I was still heavily breathing.

"Peachy," I murmured. "Just trying to breathe, is all, and not throw up."

John gave a nod and then looked down at the card again. He suddenly soon started to giggle. He lowered the card and just looked around a bit as he smiled.

"What?" Sherlock asked confused.

John looked back at him. "Nothing, just: "Welcome to London"."

Sherlock chuckled and I was soon giggling along with John. "Welcome to London indeed," I added on.

Sherlock slowly looked down the road and I followed his gaze. I groaned when I saw that a police officer was talking to the passenger from the taxi. Both men were looking at us while the American was pointing his finger over at us. Neither looked happy.

"Got your breaths back?" Sherlock asked us.

My eyes widened. Kill me now!

A smile came onto John's face as he stared at the police officer and American. "Ready when you are."

"Somebody carry me!" I whined, about ready to cry at the thought of more running. Neither boy took me seriously, though, as they instead laughed at me and darted off ahead down the street. I sighed loudly and hurried after them both. "I was _serious!_" I shouted at them.

And what was even more embarrassing was the fact that _John_ slowed down this time in order to allow _me_ to catch up with _him_ so we could run together at the same pace.

Just. Kill. Me. Now!

* * *

The three of us ran and ran, not stopping until we made it back to 221B. Sherlock moved forward into the building and draped his coat over the banister at the staircase while John hung his jacket on a hook on the wall but the door. I instantly moved up to the wall and pressed my back against it. My hands came up and pressed against my face while I slowly just dropped down so I sat on the floor. I hung my head a little and did my best to breathe properly.

"Okay, that was ridiculous," John said.

"No more running," I panted. I furiously shook my head and roughly ran my hands through my hair multiple times, turning it into a right old mess. I will never run again! Never ever!

I felt two legs get pressed up against my arms and two pairs of feet standing on both sides of me. Just by staring at their shoes, I knew that John was on my right with Sherlock on my left. They stayed standing and were still trying to catch their own breaths. I leaned my head back so it was touching the wall and stared up at the two boys.

"That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done," John continued.

"And you invaded Afghanistan," Sherlock told him.

John started to giggle at that and hung his head a little. I grinned and joined in along with Sherlock after a few moments. As we laughed, I brought my hands up and made grabbing motions at both of them. Each boy grabbed one of my hands and pulled me back to my feet. When I wobbled a little from my jelly feeling legs, I leaned on Sherlock and just closed my eyes for a split second.

"That wasn't just me," John told us, still smiling. He then pointed a bit at the door as he looked over at Sherlock and me. "Why aren't we back at the restaurant?"

Sherlock started to grow serious again. He waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, they can keep an eye out." Though he was still panting, he gave a loud sigh. "It was a long shot anyway."

"So what were we doing there?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. He paused and moved his hand a little as he tried to explain the reasoning in simple terms for John and me to understand. "Oh, just passing the time." He then gave me a glance and then looked at John. "And proving a point."

"What point?" John looked at him

"You," he answered. He then looked the other way and called loudly, "Mrs Hudson! Dr. Watson _will_ take the room upstairs."

"Says who?"

Sherlock nodded over at the door. "Says the man at the door."

Just as John turned his head towards the door, three knocks came forth from it. The doctor looked back over at us in surprise. Sherlock grinned back. When John then gazed more at me, I shrugged as best I could and just waved him off towards the door.

"It's not going to answer itself, John," I told the man.

Without a word in response, John turned back towards the door and walked over to it. As he opened the door, Sherlock leaned his head back and sighed deeply. It was hard to tell, because I think he went and masked his feelings again, but I still think that the detective was a little upset how wrong he had been at the restaurant. I glanced up at the dark haired man, who continued to stare ahead blankly as he tried to listen to the conversation that was about to happen with John, with a reassuring smile and rubbed his backside with a small smile.

"Sherlock texted me," I heard Angelo's voice. "He said you forgot this."

I peered over at John and saw him take his cane from Angelo. I chuckled. I hadn't even noticed that John had left it behind. "Ah." He stared down at it in surprise and then looked over at us for a brief second. Glancing up at Sherlock, I saw him now looking at John and grinning back. John turned right back to Angelo. "Er, thank you. Thank you."

I gently bumped my hip with Sherlock's. "Maybe there is a heart in that Tin Man chest of yours after all," I teased. Sherlock rolled his eyes but I could see the smile still on his face as he shook his head a bit. My own grin widened.

As John came back in and closed the door, Mrs. Hudson came rushing out of her flat. She hurried over to us with a very upset expression. She must have been crying because she had a tissue in her one hand. I slowly stood up straight and blinked over at the woman with concern.

"Sherlock, Bluebell, what have you done?" she asked us.

"Mrs Hudson?" we asked her in sync.

Mrs. Hudson gestured slightly at the staircase. "Upstairs."

I swallowed while Sherlock and John exchanged glances. The detective and I then glanced at the other. None of us said a word as Sherlock instantly turned on his heel and hurried up the steps two at a time. John and I quickly raced after him. As soon as he got to our room, Sherlock grabbed the handle and opened the door. Inside we found D.I. Lestrade just sitting casually in the room's black armchair facing the door. One of his arms was wrapped around the back of it while other police officers were going around going through all of Sherlock's possessions. Sherlock stormed over to the man and glared at him. I came up next to the detective and crossed my arms with narrowed eyes as well. They couldn't just do this. Where was the warrant allowing them access into our flat?

"What are you doing?" Sherlock demanded.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid," Lestrade told us.

"You can't just break into our flat," Sherlock told him. I nodded.

"And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat."

Sherlock's arms came out before him, indicating the flat and the intruders inside of it. "Well, what do you call this then?"

Lestrade looked at all the officers ruffling through Sherlock's things for a moment before returning his attention to us. He gave us an innocent look. "It's a drugs bust."

"Seriously?!" John asked Lestrade. "This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?! Or Blue? I highly doubt she'd be one."

Lestrade seemed highly amused as Sherlock moved closer to John whilst slightly biting his lip a little. "John," he warned him.

"John," I said to the man as well. I shook my head. "I'd stop now." I never did drugs…but Sherlock…

Not quite sure, though, if John heard us. "I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational."

Sherlock leaned in a little towards the doctor. "John, you probably want to shut up now."

John looked at him. "Yeah, but come on…" The doctor trailed off when he saw how serious Sherlock was staring at him. He gave the detective a once over. "No."

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"You?"

"Shut up!" Sherlock angrily snapped at the doctor.

"Sherlock!" I exclaimed.

Sherlock ignored me as he turned back to Lestrade. "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog," Lestrade told him as he nodded over to the kitchen.

"What, An…"

We all looked over at the kitchen where one of the sliding glass doors opened up a bit more, revealing the officer who stood behind it. Anderson stared back at us and raised a hand in a sarcastic greeting.

I glared at Lestrade and pointed back at Anderson who shouldn't even be here right now. "Why? What the hell is this?!"

"Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?" Sherlock angrily asked Anderson.

I spun back around as Anderson said, "Oh, I volunteered."

Sherlock turned away, biting his lip angrily. I looked back once more at Lestrade and pointed at Anderson again. "Once more I ask, why?!"

"They all did," Lestrade answered, back to the volunteer bit that Anderson had mentioned. His eyes went back and forth between Sherlock and me. "They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen."

I gave a frustrated sigh at that bit of news and then had to almost instantly bite my lip from the anger that was growing deep down. I started to rub my temples to try and calm down when I heard Donovan's voice. I gave Lestrade another glare for the fact that that dreadful woman was in my new home. In answer Lestrade gave me an amused raised eyebrow.

"Are these human eyes?" the woman asked.

I looked over my shoulder to see she had a jar of them in her hand. Some of my anger disappeared when a sickly feeling overcame my body instead at the sight of the body parts. I quickly placed a hand over top of my mouth. I didn't know Sherlock had those here…

Him and his stupid experiments…

"Put those back!" Sherlock ordered, thrusting his index finger from the bag of eyes to wherever the heck she got them.

"They were in the microwave," she answered back.

"It's an experiment," he told her.

"And the woman's clothes in your room?" she shot back. "They an experiment too? Or are you withholding more evidence?"

"Leave him alone, Donovan!" I exclaimed as heat crossed my face. "They're _my_ things!"

"Oh, so you're living together now, huh?" she asked with a smirk. "And you said that the two of you weren't a couple."

John had to quickly grab ahold of me as I got ready to rush after her. His arms came up under my armpits and he brought me back against his chest. I squirmed in his grasp, but he made sure to tighten the grip he had on me.

"Calm down, Blu," he whispered so only I could hear him. "She isn't worth it."

After a few seconds I stopped and did as John asked, but he still didn't release me quite yet. Only once Donovan was out of sight did he retract his arms from my body. I glanced over at him with an apologetic look and he smiled back, grasping my shoulder with one hand and squeezing gently.

"Keep looking, guys," Lestrade told them all. Sherlock started to pace the room with an irritated look on his face. Lestrade stood to his feet and watched as the detective moved about. "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down."

Sherlock continued to pace. "This is childish."

"Well, I'm dealing with a child," Lestrade answered back. Still Sherlock paced angrily, not helping disprove Lestrade's statement. "Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?"

Sherlock finally stopped. He turned to face Lestrade in order to glare at him. "Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?"

"Sherlock!" I yelled at the dark haired man.

"It stops being pretend if they find anything," the D.I. shot back.

"I am clean!" the detective said loudly.

"Is your flat? All of it?"

"Lestrade!" I warned the D.I. Neither man seemed to really want to pay attention to me. I sighed and ran both my hands down my face in exasperation. Lestrade said that Sherlock was the child? Well he was acting like one too! I felt the parent being forced to separate her children before they started to fight one another. Then again, with Sherlock I always feel like that.

"I don't even smoke," the detective told Lestrade. He roughly unbuttoned the cuff of his left shirt sleeve and pulled back the fabric of the material. He held up his arm and allowed Lestrade to see one of his three nicotine patches.

In response, Lestrade unbuttoned the cuff on his right arm and pulled up the sleeve just like Sherlock had done. "Neither do I."

I blinked dumbly at the patch that rested on the D.I.'s arm as the two held their arms together and basically compared patches. Sherlock stared at it for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and forcing the sleeve of his shirt back down. As the detective turned away, the D.I. rolled his back down as well, just more slowly.

"So let's work together," Lestrade told Sherlock. The dark haired man stared ahead of him, still with an irritated look on his face. He didn't turn back around until Lestrade said, "We've found Rachel."

"Who is she?" Sherlock instantly asked.

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

"Her daughter?" Sherlock said to himself. He looked lost. "Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

"Never mind that. We found the case," Anderson said. I rolled my eyes as the man pointed at the pink suitcase in the living room. "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath and his girlfriend."

Sherlock looked at him disparagingly. "I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research."

At the same time I exclaimed, "Not his girlfriend!"

Sherlock looked back at Lestrade. "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her."

"She's dead," Lestrade told him.

"Excellent!" Sherlock responded.

John and I both gave him startled looks. "Sherlock!" I hissed.

I was ignored like usual however since Sherlock was too focused on Lestrade and whoever Rachel was. "How, when, and why? Is there a connection? There has to be."

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years," Lestrade told him. "Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago."

John grimaced sadly and glanced away. I closed my eyes for a split second. "Poor woman," I murmured. "That must've been awful for her."

Sherlock, on the other hand, just looked confused.

"No, that's...that's not right. How…? Why would she do that? Why?" he asked, not understanding why the name Rachel was so important.

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup. Sociopath. I'm seeing it now," Anderson commented.

Sherlock turned and gave him an exasperated look. "She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt."

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it," John told the detective as he passed us by, now back to his pacing in order to think. "Well, maybe he, I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow."

Sherlock turned to stare at the doctor. "Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?"

John stared at him. I shook my head a little bit sadly. Sherlock hesitated as he realized that everyone in the flat had stopped what they were doing and had fallen silent at his comment. He glanced around the room and then looked awkwardly at John and me.

"Not good?" Sherlock asked.

John glanced around at the others before turning back to Sherlock. He averted his eyes. "Bit not good, yeah."

"You're aren't serious, are you?" I whispered at the detective. "Do you really not get it, Sherlock? About death and family? Loved ones?"

Sherlock gave me a brief glance and I saw his lips purse at my comment. He quickly shook it off, though, and took a step closer to John and me. He stared at us intently as he asked, "Yeah, but if you were dying...if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?"

"Please, God, let me live." John told the man.

Sherlock grew exasperated. "Oh, use your imagination!"

I glared at Sherlock as John said, "I don't have to."

Sherlock seemed to recognize the look of pain in John's face. He paused momentarily and blinked a couple of times, awkwardly shifting his feet as he seemed to understand what he said and the experience John had from the war. He instantly turned to me so he could move on with the conversation.

"Blu, what would you say?" he asked me. "You understand."

"I already said what I'd do," I told him with narrowed eyes and crossed arms. "But you must not have been listening like usual, Sherlock."

Sherlock frowned and looked ready to strangle me for not being much help. I rolled my eyes as he quickly looked back over at John and continued on with the conversation they had been having, acting as if he hadn't asked me anything. "Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever... Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers," his hand moved about, indicating the running about, "she was clever." He pointed an index finger at John before going back to his pacing. John still looked annoyed about Sherlock's earlier comment. "She's trying to tell us something."

"Isn't the doorbell working?" Mrs. Hudson asked. John and I both turned to look at her. She stood right in the doorway. "Your taxi's here, Sherlock." Her eyes then came over and locked with mine. "You as well, Bluebell."

As I pointed a finger at my chest in question, Sherlock said, "We didn't order a taxi. Go away." I gave Sherlock a hard frown as he just dismissed Mrs. Hudson with a wave of his hand.

Mrs. Hudson stayed put, though. She gazed around the room with a sad face. "Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?"

"It's a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson," John told her.

"But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers," Mrs. Hudson said anxiously, thinking that the police were there for her.

I laughed and shook my head. "No, no, Mrs. Hudson. Not for you. Promise."

"Shut up, everybody, shut up!" Sherlock snapped with his back facing us. I jumped and grabbed John's arm from the shock. John gave me an amused look as I sheepishly grinned at him and then glared over at Sherlock. The detective's hands were in the air near both sides of his faces and he was more than likely glaring ahead at the wall across from him. "Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think." Sherlock's hand closest to the kitchen gestured over at the area. "Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off.

"What?" the man asked, not doing what was asked. "My face is?"

"Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back," Lestrade told them all.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Anderson rolled his eyes.

"Your back, now, please!" Lestrade snapped.

"Oh, just do it, Anderson," I sneered at the man as John took a seat in the armchair opposite the one that Lestrade had been in earlier. "It's not like you're being much help anyway."

"Come on, think. Quick!" Sherlock said loudly to himself, earning all of our attention.

"What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson asked innocently.

Sherlock spun on his heel and scowled at her. "MRS HUDSON!" he yelled at the top of his lungs furiously.

I gaped at what he had just done. "SHERLOCK!" I screamed as the landlady darted back down the steps in a fright.

I went to follow the woman, but paused when I saw that Sherlock had stopped as he seemed to realize something. His face relaxed. "Oh!" he breathed out. A grin appeared on his face out of pure delight as he figured out something important. "Ah! She was clever, clever, _yes!_"

He walked across the room and then turned back to the others. "She's cleverer than you lot and she's _dead._ Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him."

My eyes widened as I realized where he was going with this. "She left it behind in order to lead us to the killer."

Sherlock nodded, glad that one of us was getting it. He seemed to smile a little as he pointed over at me. I grinned a bit back. "_Yes!_ Somebody here understands!" Since everyone else was staring blankly over at him, Sherlock rolled his eyes since he was forced to still explain a tiny bit. "When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death."

"But how?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock stopped to stare at the D.I. "Wha...? What do you mean, how?" he asked utterly confused.

Lestrade just gave a shrug, unsure as to how to answer.

"Rachel!" Sherlock exclaimed with another smile on his face. He looked at us with a triumphant expression. John and Lestrade stared back blankly. I bit my lip. "Don't you see? Rachel!" the detective tried again. He turned to the kitchen at the police officers and received the same looks from them. When he looked back at us, he locked eyes with me, probably hoping that I'd understand. I bit my lip harder and sadly shook my head slowly. Sherlock laughed softly in disbelief. "Oh, look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing." He grew serious once more and looked over at Lestrade. "Rachel is _not_ a name."

John at this point looked ready to punch Sherlock in the face for being so rude and ignorant of others' feelings. "Then what is it?"

Sherlock came over to me and gripped both of my shoulders tightly. I stared back at him with wide eyes and blinked multiple times when he shook me a little bit. His own bluish green eyes gazed intently at me.

"Blu, I _was_ listening to you earlier today. I _did_ hear what you said about your final message to the world," he told me quietly. I blinked some more as my mouth opened a little in shock. "You said if you were dying you'd either write a message somehow to your family to be remembered by or…"

My eyes widened even more when I saw where he was heading. "Or something to help catch my killer," I breathed.

"Exactly!" he exclaimed, starting to get excited again. He quickly kissed my forehead before releasing my shoulders and spinning to point at the doctor. I froze up as my cheeks grew hot. As much as I enjoyed that, there were other people in the room who witnessed that. Now none of them will ever stop doubting that he and I are a 'couple.' "John, on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address."

John looked at the label on the suitcase and flipped it open to read from it. Sherlock quickly went over to his laptop, ready to type in the email address. I slowly walked up behind him and watched over his shoulder along with Lestrade. I placed my hands on the back of Sherlock's chair and moved my face next to his.

"Er, jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk," John told Sherlock.

"Oh, I've been too slow. She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a smartphone, it's e-mail enabled," he told us as he pulled up the Mephone website and typed the woman's email into the username box. "So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address…" he started to type into the password box, "and all together now, the password is…?"

He left the question hang in the air.

"Rachel," John and I said together, the doctor coming up beside me to stare at the screen.

"So we can read her e-mails. So what?" Anderson asked.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street," Sherlock told the man. I snorted into my hand. "We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her."

"Unless he got rid of it," Lestrade told us.

"We know he didn't," John said back, looking at him.

Sherlock glared at the computer screen impatiently. "Come on, come on. Quickly!"

"Sherlock, dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "Bluebell." I looked over my shoulder at her as she trotted up the steps and came into the room. "This taxi driver…"

I quickly straightened up as Sherlock got to his feet and marched over to her. "Mrs. Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?" he asked her.

As John took Sherlock's chair, I moved over to Mrs. Hudson. I gently patted her shoulder and kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson, for Sherlock's behavior," I told her as I pulled back. I walked around her and jogged down the steps. "I'll go take care of the cabbie driver and let him know this is one big mixup."

I got to the bottom floor just as a man entered the house. I instantly saw the lanyard around his neck and the taxi badge attached to it. I gave the man a smile as he stopped and stared at me.

"Are you Bluebell Lavender?" he asked.

I nodded and finished the steps, walking right over to him. "Yes, I am. Sherlock's upstairs. But there's a slight problem."

He shook his head. "No."

I blinked. "Pardon?"

He smiled a bit back. "There's no problem, Miss Lavender."

I shook my head and stuck out my tongue. My nose scrunched up a bit. "Please call me Bluebell or Blu, sir. No Miss. Never a Miss. Rubbish word that is."

"I'm sorry. There isn't a problem, Bluebell."

I blinked again. "And why not? Neither Sherlock nor I ordered a taxi."

"Oh, I think you're going to want this one."

My smile slowly disappeared as the man's grin grew widened. He took a step forward and I quickly took one back. The cab driver, though, quickly reached forward and grabbed my arm tightly. I looked down at where he had my arm and back up to his face. My eyes widened when I saw the needle that he pulled out of nowhere.

"Sher-!" I started to yell, just before I felt the point of the needle pierce my arm.

My eyes instantly drooped and my body sluggishly fell forward, unable to properly keep itself up. I felt arms wrap around me as the man caught me and then started to drag me along behind him. I repeatedly had to blink my eyes as everything suddenly grew quite blurry. Everything became darker suddenly and the noises all around me seemed to grow louder. I wanted to cover my ears, but I couldn't move my hands. There was then another noise, but this one was closer and bit more soft. I felt my body be lifted up and then get propelled into something hard. My head bashed against the object and a groan escaped my lips. My eyes fluttered as a louder sound came from where I had been thrown and then everything became utterly silent.

I slowly closed my eyes. Just before the darkness overtook my entire body, though, I managed to whisper, "Sherlock…help…"

* * *

**So, I deeply apologize for updating this now instead of on Sunday like I wished to. It's currently 2:30 Tuesday morning. I had up to half of the restaurant scene done, but then Sunday was quite chaotic with getting some filming done with my friends (we decided to start a video blog thing all about college on YouTube) and I was chatting with my mother and I just ran out of time in the end. I made it up, though, by making this chapter twice as long as it was originally going to be. One chapter was supposed to just be the restaurant scene with the chase, and then a second was back at the flat with Lestrade and company. The unfortunate thing about me doing this, though, is now you must wait until Friday for the next chapter, which I think will be ending the episode. Not sure yet. I need to see how long it is to the point that I want to cut it off.**

**Anyway, first things first. I must say this now in case anyone wonders. As you can see, Blu's been kidnapped. I wanted to put it in because I really wanted to type the entire pill scene with Blu there because Sherlock _is_ still going to be there. I didn't swap Sherlock's position with Blu. She's going to be useless (she is drugged quite a bit and isn't used to any sort of drug) but she will be able to understand what is going on (like Sherlock almost taking the pill). Oh, yeah. Haha. I used a needle because if any of you have seen the unaired pilot, the cabbie driver drugs Sherlock with a needle and basically kidnaps him. Thought it would be fun to incorporate that small bit. Now, since Blu's knocked out, next chapter will basically start with Blu leaving the flat to talk to the driver, but will be in third person a little bit until Blu wakes back up.**

**Next! I have posted links to the pictures of what Blu's sisters (who we saw anyway) and Richard look like. Names are:**  
**Krista Allen as Marigold**  
**Amy Acker as Violet**  
**Cindy Busby as Myrtle**  
**and Channing Tatum as Richard**

**Well, I believe that is it. Hmm... Yeah. I think that's it. Please comment and favorite. They are very appreciated. To all those who have commented thus far, thank you very much! Hugs and gold stars for all! :D**

**Until next time, y'all!**


	6. Chapter 6: The Holmes Brothers

No one seemed to notice when Bluebell left the flat to go downstairs. Everyone was still preoccupied with the business of where the phone was and thus the killer. John stared at the screen of the laptop, waiting for the map to pop up indicating the location while Sherlock and Lestrade were together and talking near the kitchen.

"We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter," Sherlock told the D.I. Over in the doorway, Mrs. Hudson kept glancing around anxiously at all the officers still moving about in the flat. Every once in a while she turned to stare down the steps whilst biting her lip, waiting for Bluebell to reappear. "We're gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won't last forever."

"We'll just have a map reference, not a name," Lestrade said back to the detective.

"It's a start!" Sherlock said exasperated.

John's eyebrows scrunched together as the map on the screen zoomed in on where the phone was. "Sherlock…," he called confused.

Sherlock didn't seem to hear John. "It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It's the first proper lead that we've had."

"Sherlock…" John tried again.

Sherlock moved across the room. "What is it? Quickly, where?" he asked as he peered at the screen over John's shoulder.

John blinked as he hesitantly lifted up a hand to point at the screen. "It's here. It's in 221 Baker Street."

Sherlock glanced up at the wall confused. "How can it be here?" He slowly straightened up. "How?"

"Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere," Lestrade offered as Sherlock started to look around the room.

"What, and I didn't notice it? _Me?_ I didn't notice?" Sherlock asked.

"Anyway, we texted him and he called back," John told Lestrade, looking over at the man.

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim…" Lestrade started to his officers.

Sherlock tuned the D.I. out as he began to remember the questions he had asked to Bluebell and John earlier. He stared ahead at him in thought.

_ Who do we trust, even if we don't know them?_

Images began to flash through Sherlock's head. One was of a black taxi driving through the rain with its sign lit up that it was up for hire.

_Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?_

The image in Sherlock's head changed from the taxi to actually seeing one of the victims walking down with a hand raised to hail a taxi for himself.

_Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?_

Another image in his head appeared after, this time of another of the victims walking across the road in the pouring rain with his hands in his pockets. Behind him a taxi was driving up the road along.

This image was then replaced in the detective's head with the third victim who was in despair as she realized that she didn't have her car keys and thus could not get inside of her vehicle. A taxi pulled up nearby just as the woman glanced over.

One more image flashed through Sherlock's mind of the newest victim. It was of Jennifer Wilson as she arrived at a London terminus and got inside the back of a taxi.

Sherlock slowly snapped out of his thoughts as the sound of his phone trilled out, indicating that the man had a text. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out the black device. On the screen there was a message for him: COME WITH ME. Just as Sherlock's head turned to the door of his flat, he saw a man turn slowly around with a pink phone out and walk back down the steps.

"Sherlock, you okay?" John asked, breaking into Sherlock's thoughts.

"What?" Sherlock asked distracted, his eyes still trained on where the man was. "Yeah, yeah, I-I'm fine."

John didn't seem to realize that something was on Sherlock's mind. "So, how can the phone be here?"

"Dunno."

John stood up and reached into his pocket for his phone. "I'll try it again."

"Good idea," Sherlock answered back as he headed for the door.

John glanced over at the detective as he pulled out his phone. "Where are you going?"

"Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long," Sherlock replied, now out in the hall.

John frowned at Sherlock's response. "You sure you're all right?" he called.

Sherlock was already hurrying down the steps. "I'm fine."

Once the detective made it downstairs, he opened the front door and pulled on his coat as he stepped out into the night air. A taxi was parked right across from him with the driver just casually leaning against the side of it. The man seemed to smile a small bit once he spotted the detective.

"Taxi for Sherlock 'olmes and Bluebell Lavender," he told Sherlock.

Sherlock stepped forward, closing the door behind him. "I didn't order a taxi and neither did Bluebell."

"Doesn't mean you don't need one," the driver told Sherlock.

"You're the cabbie," Sherlock said after a moment. In his head he remembered the taxi from the restaurant. He was now able to clearly see not just the American with his head turned staring at them all, but the cabbie as well. A second later the driver faced forward again and drove off. "The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street." Sherlock began to smile a little. "It was you, not your passenger."

"See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer."

Sherlock took a few more steps forward towards the driver. "Is this a confession?" he asked as he briefly glanced up towards the windows of his flat.

"Oh, yeah," the driver replied. "An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise."

"Why?"

"'Cause you're not gonna do that."

"Am I not?"

"I didn't kill those four people, Mr. 'olmes. I spoke to 'em...and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing." The driver leaned in towards Sherlock. "I will never tell you what I said."

Sherlock stared back at the man. After a moment, the driver straightened up and started to walk around the front of the cab. He stopped, though, and looked back at Sherlock as the detective began to talk.

"No one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result."

"An' you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?"

Sherlock continued to watch the man as he turned once more and headed for the driver's door. The detective made no move as the driver casually got inside of the taxi and shut the door. Sherlock pursed his lips after a few seconds and glanced up at the flat windows again. When he returned his attention to the cab, he stepped forward and peered at the cabbie through the open passenger window.

"If I wanted to understand, what would I do?" he asked.

The driver stared over at Sherlock. "Let me take you for a ride."

"So you can kill me too?" Sherlock asked without missing a beat.

"I don't wanna kill you, Mr. 'olmes. I'm gonna talk to ya...and then you're gonna kill yourself," the cabbie told Sherlock.

Sherlock slowly stood up straight in thought with the driver's words on his mind. He went through the situation in his head. The driver went back to ignoring him as he gazed straight ahead through the front window. A smile of satisfaction appeared on his face as soon as Sherlock opened the back taxi door and stepped inside. The car started up the moment Sherlock was sitting down and had shut the door.

Sherlock glanced down at the floor of the taxi when his foot touched something soft. He blinked and bent over a little to peer down at the object. It took him barely a second to figure out what he had touched. His eyes closed in agitation and he exhaled loudly through his nose.

_Bluebell… _

Without a word said, Sherlock bent over and picked up the girl carefully. He placed her in the seat next to him and gently moved her head onto his lap so she was more comfortable for whenever she woke up. The detective's eyes roamed her body for any injuries and instantly spotted the needle that was still attached to the girl's arm. He angrily pulled it out of her skin and tossed it out of the window.

"Oh. I see you've found Miss Lavender," the cabbie said with a smirk.

"Was there really a reason to drug her?" Sherlock calmly asked as his gloved fingers ran gently through Bluebell's blonde locks. He didn't think much of his actions. It was as natural as him laying down in her lap, whether it be his head or feet. Sometimes she even did it back to him and his black mass of curls.

"Oh, we both know, Mr. 'olmes, that she isn't like you. She innit as curious enough to know about 'ow I do things. She would 'ave turned me straight into the coppers without a second thought. You on the other 'and, though…" The driver laughed a little bit at the huge difference there was between the two.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed a little bit. He glanced out of the window. "How did you find us?"

The driver glanced between the road and Sherlock through the rearview window. "Oh, I recognized ya, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock 'olmes and Bluebell Lavender! I was warned about you both." Sherlock gazed intently at the driver, his fingers still in Bluebell's hair. "I've been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!"

"Who warned you about us?"

"Just someone out there who's noticed you," the driver replied as Sherlock moved his attention back out of the window. "More you than 'er, though."

"Who?" The detective carefully leaned forward a little. His fingers paused in Bluebell's hair as he looked closely at the cabbie's neck followed by then staring at the photograph of a young boy and girl attached to the dashboard of the vehicle. His eyes came back up after a moment and stared at the driver's using the rearview window. "Who would notice me?

The cabbie met his eyes. "You're too modest, Mr. 'olmes."

Sherlock shook his head just the slightest with a tiny smirk. "I'm really not."

"You've got yourself a fan."

Sherlock leaned back in his seat and his fingers resumed running through Bluebell's blonde locks. "Tell me more," he casually said.

"That's all you're gonna know…," the driver told him. His voice then lowered and he added, "…in this lifetime."

* * *

"Where are we?"

My eyes fluttered a little at that voice. I knew that voice. It sounded so familiar. Where have I heard that voice before?

"You know every street in London," another voice said. I knew this one too, but not as well as the first. The first voice was more of a baritone sounding one. It was pleasant and made my heart speed up. This other one, though…this one made me just want to punch whoever it was that was talking. Both were definitely male. "You know exactly where we are."

"Roland-Kerr Further Education College," the first voice said. I stirred some at that voice. Who was this man? What was touching my head? Why did it make me safe and warm inside? I wanted to lift my head to look, but I couldn't. My noggin felt as heavy as lead. "Why here?"

"It's open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder." My muscles clenched and I tried to force myself to get up in order to get to the man. The cabbie. It was the cabbie! The guy who drugged me! "I'm surprised more of us don't branch out."

"And you just walk your victims in? How?" I tried to open my eyes again. I knew who the one voice was now, but the second…? I was still having trouble and I wasn't sure why. It was like his name was buried deep in my head. I was being forced to do everything in my power to dig him out. Was it important? To me, yes. I wanted to know. I _needed_ to know. I just wish it didn't hurt to remember. I heard the man above me sigh. "Oh, dull."

"Don't worry. It gets better," the driver said.

"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint."

Gun?

"I don't. It's much better than that. Don't need this with you, 'cause you'll follow me." The driver then paused in thoguht. "Oh, and don't forget Miss Lavender."

That's it. Of course. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Only one man would be stupid enough to go willingly with a serial killer.

I sighed and did everything I could to force my eyes to open. When I was positive that my eyes were open, I instantly noticed that my vision was a giant mess. I turned my eyes up towards who was above me until I spotted a black blur. My eyes travelled up the blur and found some white connected to the black blur with more black up top over the white.

I only knew one idiot who loved his dark mysterious colors.

And the funny thing was I lived with him and was in love with him.

"Sherlock…?" I murmured, feeling drowsy.

I blinked multiple times to rid my vision of the blurriness. I tried to also bring my hands up to help rub at them, but my hands felt just as heavy as my head and wouldn't budge. My vision soon cleared, though, after a minute and I spotted Sherlock staring at me with a mixture of aggravation on his face and a bit of concern.

He didn't say anything at first as he just gathered me up in his arms and got us out of whatever the heck we were in. My guess was a cab since its driver was our killer. Sherlock continued to glower angrily as he shut the door of the vehicle with his hip. He then tightened his arms on me and marched forward.

Sherlock had picked me up bridal style, but I just had my head placed against his chest awkwardly as the rest of my limbs hung limply from his hold. I felt so terribly horrible. I had never been drugged in my entire life before. Knocked out sure, but drugged? Why?! How the heck did Sherlock ever handle taking drugs before? This was just…! There are no words that are horrible enough to describe how I feel right now about what had happened to me.

"Are you feeling better?" the detective asked as he walked.

I had closed my eyes again, but I briefly opened them to glance ahead (where I sighed after seeing that we were following the mad cab driver) and then looked up at Sherlock. His face had calmed down once more back into his normal mask, but I knew. Deep down he was just a little concerned for me. Most people couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling when his mask came on. I could, though. It's something I forced myself to pick up on when I saw how much Sherlock liked to keep his emotions in check behind a blank face.

Sherlock was brilliant at observing everyone around us, but I think I'm pretty close to mastering the puzzle known only as Sherlock Holmes.

"Groggy," I muttered, going back to closing my eyes. If I listened closely enough, I could hear his heart beat inside of his chest. It brought a smile to my face. It was so soothing, "sore, tired, confused. Please, take your pick."

His chest rumbled as he chuckled. "Don't worry. You'll feel better in no time. Your body just isn't used to any drugs, Blu."

"Remind me to never ever take them. Not worth it. I feel like hell. No clue how you ever managed to take drugs and live to see another day."

He grew oddly quiet at that so I peered up at him. He was staring straight ahead as we followed the driver. No idea where we were, which upset me since Sherlock said the name earlier, but we currently were in some sort of building. If I was going to die, I'd like it to be a better place then this. Sheesh.

Noting that I may have upset him, I said, "Sherlock, why am I here? No offense to you, but what the heck is the point in me being here when the driver has you?" I had to pause for a moment to get my breath back. Also because a headache was beginning inside of my head. Everything spun a bit the longer I spoke. "Usually people kidnap the partner as blackmail or something or to just have a hostage. Obviously this man didn't drug me because of that. If he had, you wouldn't be holding me right now."

Sherlock blinked and his eyes seemed to narrow a little. Seeing that I had snapped him out of whatever he was feeling before, I resumed my position of being in his arms with closed eyes.

"No idea, Blu. Apparently, though, I have a fan."

"Ooh," I giggled with a smile. I opened my eyes just as the dark haired man rolled his eyes. I raised both of my eyebrows at him and wiggled them a bit. "A fan, huh? Somebody's special. And I thought it was just me who adored you. Should I be jealous?"

Finally the cabbie opened up one of the two doors ahead of us. He stood with his back against it and watched us. Sherlock and I grew quiet as he stepped through and into the dark room on the other side. As soon as we entered, the cabbie let the swinging door shut and flicked on the lights. I blinked against the blinding light and hurriedly buried my head against Sherlock's coat. I felt Sherlock, though, walk farther into the room.

"Well, what do you think?" the driver asked. "It's up to you. You're the one who's gonna die 'ere."

I slowly pulled away from Sherlock's body to gaze around the room. It was a classroom. A gigantic one with rows of wooden tables next to the other. Chairs were placed behind each part of the table near the shelves.

I grimaced. We were going to die in a school?

Sherlock stopped walking. He looked back over at the driver. His eyes narrowed for a moment and he looked close to smirking. "No, I'm not."

"That's what they all say." The driver stepped forward closer to us. He pointed at one of the chairs near us. "Shall we talk?"

The driver didn't wait for a reply before just taking a seat. Sherlock moved two of the chairs from another table and put them across from the driver. He slowly took a seat in the one and then carefully sat me up in the other. I sighed at the thought of feeling and looking so helpless. Sitting here, I was sort of good. I could see everything that was about to happen. Unfortunately I still had very little use of my legs. Though feeling was coming back into my arms, hands, and fingers, and my head was processing things much more clearly, I still couldn't move my legs. No legs meant I couldn't get up, walk, nor run. I wasn't very much help whatsoever. Hopefully I gained them back before we were forced to escape.

Sherlock sat back in his seat and placed his hands together over his stomach. He crossed on leg over top of the other. "Bit risky, wasn't it? Took us away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen," he said as he began to pull off his gloves and place them inside of his coat pocket. "They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you."

"You call that a risk? Nah. This is a risk," the driver answered as he reached into his left pocket of his cardigan. He pulled out a small glass bottle with a screw top onto the table. Inside it was just one large pill. I slowly pulled my eyes away from it to look over at Sherlock. He was staring at the thing, just slightly interested. "Ooh, I like this bit. 'Cause you don't get it yet, do ya?" Sherlock's eyes looked up at the driver. "But you're about to. I just have to do this." The cabbie reached into his opposite pocket and pulled out a bottle and pill identical to the first. "You weren't expecting that, were ya?" the driver asked. He slowly leaned in with a smirk. "Ooh, you're going to love this."

"Love what?" Sherlock asked.

I sighed as the man sat back again. Why was I here again? No really, why?! Obviously this was all for Sherlock. Always for Sherlock. There was absolutely no point to my presence. Time had been taken out of my schedule for me to go and get drugged and then watch as Sherlock and this cabbie battle it out with pills and brainpower.

"Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it."

That same word again that Sherlock mentioned earlier. I glanced at the detective's face. He appeared agitated that he had no clue who this 'fan' was. "My fan?"

The driver ignored the question. "You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius. _The Science of Deduction_. Now that is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting 'ere, why can't people think?" The driver glanced down angrily. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?" he asked before returning his attention back to Sherlock.

Sherlock gazed back before gaining a look of understanding on his face. "Oh, I see. So you're a proper genius too."

I smiled a tad bit. He was being sarcastic. Obviously he didn't see such a thing in the man across from us. If he did, then that would mean he would be calling this man his equal. I highly doubt that Sherlock would want this man to be his equal.

"Don't look it, do I? Funny little man drivin' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know."

Sherlock moved his eyes onto the bottles still sitting next to one another on the table. "Okay, two bottles. Explain."

The man appeared to smile a bit. He nodded over at me. "Why not ask Miss Lavender, 'ere? Bet she'd love to tell you all about the pills." I ground my teeth at being called 'Miss'. Who wants to be called 'Miss'? Rubbish title. Sherlock blinked at the man and glanced over at me. I gave him a quick look, but focused my attention more on the man and his bottles. "Go on. Tell 'im."

"Of course I know. Favorite part in the entire book," I murmured. My eyebrows scrunched together and I kept staring at the driver in confusion. "Question is, how the heck did _you_ know?"

He just kept smiling. "Don't go and keep Mr. 'olmes waitin', Miss Lavender. Tell 'im."

"I…"

"Blu," Sherlock said. "Just tell me."

I blinked and pulled my attention back to Sherlock. I shook my head a little. "Uh…" _Princess Bride_. It's a book. Read it, I think, two weeks ago? Maybe? Not the point. There's a part in the book, just like this one, except it's wine instead of pills. And if this situation is like the part in the book, then there should be a good pill and a bad one. You take one pill, he takes the other. Together you take the pills at the same time. Whoever has the good one lives and gets to walk away while the other dies from taking the bad pill. Fifty-fifty shot of either being a winner or loser."

Unless both pills were deadly, but I highly doubt that considering that this man has done this already a good few times before. And I highly also doubt that he's built up a resistance to the pill.

"Both bottles are of course identical," Sherlock said, still keeping his eyes on me.

"In every way," the driver replied.

"And you know which is which."

"Course I know."

"But I don't."

"Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the one who chooses."

"Yeah," I muttered with a roll of my eyes. "He gets to choose all right. Gets to choose whether he wants to live or die."

Sherlock, though, started to grin. He looked back over at the cabbie with an interested look. I sighed. It really was a game to him. It didn't matter if this was life or death. He wanted to play.

He was such an idiot.

"I won't cheat," the driver told Sherlock. "It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't." Sherlock looked down at the bottles. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he mentally tried to figure out which pill was which so he could win the game. "Didn't expect that, did you, Mr. 'olmes?"

"This is what you did to the rest of them: you gave them a choice," Sherlock said.

"And now I'm givin' you one." The two gazed at the other. "You take your time. Get yourself together." The driver licked his lips in anticipation. It was a bit sickening, this man and his bloody game, that is. Who would want to do this? What was the purpose? "I want your best game."

"It's not a game. It's chance," Sherlock said.

"Maybe not to him," I murmured.

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. 'olmes, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this...this...is the move." The man kept his eyes locked with Sherlock's as he brought up his left hand hand and placed it on the bottle on the left side. He slid it over to Sherlock, who eyed it without a word, and then brought back his hand with another lick of his lips. "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle?" he asked. The driver then nodded at both bottles. "You can choose either one."

Minutes passed by slowly, making it feel like hours - no, years. The cabbie and I watched Sherlock intently as he just stared down at the bottle that now sat closest to him in silence. As we waited, I was slowly starting to get feeling back into my legs. If we had to run now, I was so ready. Everything was much clearer in my head too.

"You ready yet, Mr. 'olmes?" the driver asked. "Ready to play?"

I slowly brought a hand over and under the table to Sherlock. His eyes gave the smallest flick towards my hand as I placed it on his knee. I gazed at him and gently squeezed his leg. Though I was the one trying to reassure him, I felt that I needed it more strangely enough. Sherlock was the calm one, when compared to me, and yet he was the one who was being forced to pick a bloody pill that could either help him see another day or end his life right here in a stupid school with me watching. I'm not sure if I'd like to see him die before me. It'd hurt too much.

"Play what? It's a fifty-fifty chance," he told the driver.

"You're not playin' the numbers, you're playin' me," the cabbie instantly told him with a hint of irritation. "Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?"

My hand tightened a bit more on his leg. "Still just chance," Sherlock snarled.

"Four people in a row? It's not just chance," the driver told him whilst shaking his head.

"Luck," Sherlock and I spat at him in sync.

"It's genius," he answered. "I know 'ow people think." Sherlock and I both rolled our eyes. "I know 'ow people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my 'ead."

"Well, good for bloody you," I sneered.

"Everyone's so stupid – even you," the man continued at Sherlock. The detective's eyes seemed to now suddenly actually see the driver across from us. I sighed. Stupid, stupid idiot. That got him. Should've known it would. Sherlock's big fat ego. The one thing that might actually kill him. Not some pills, not a bloody bullet, but his gigantic ego. "Or maybe God just loves me."

I snorted at that, earning a look from the man. "As if. You shouldn't even be given the choice to begin with on who you can just pick up off the streets and play a stinkin' game with their lives."

I moved my hand away from Sherlock's knee as he uncrossed his legs and sat up straight, but instantly put it back on once he was leaning forward towards the driver with his hands clasped together on the table. "Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie," Sherlock added on. He brought his lips near his hands as he continued to stare in thought at the cabbie. He was in his prayer position. He was thinking. "So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?"

The driver nodded down at the bottles. "Time to play."

"Oh, I am playing. This is my turn," Sherlock said. He turned his head a little and indicated the man's face across from him. "There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no-one to tell you. But there's a photograph of children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd died, she'd still be there. The photograph's old but the frame's new. You think of your children but you don't get to see them."

The driver's gaze slid away from Sherlock so he was looking down at the table. I saw a hint of pain fill his eyes. I blinked in surprise as the driver began to fidget a bit and I slowly gazed at Sherlock as he continued. Usually something like this, I'd try and stop Sherlock before things grew too personal with his deductions, especially when it came to children or family. I had a certain soft spot for them. But this was a man was trying to kill Sherlock and apparently wanted me to watch…? Not sure really. His motives aren't as clear as I hoped they be when it came to me. Anyway, if Sherlock's deductions can get at this guy, then I say go ahead. I won't stop him. Actually, I encourage him.

"Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts." Sherlock's index fingers extended straight up in front of his face, still touching together. "Ah, but there's more." The driver lifted his eyes and looked back at Sherlock as the detective moved his fingers so they were now pointing at the cabbie. "Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing's at least...three years old?" The detective's fingers curled back. "Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about?" Sherlock smiled just a bit. His eyes crinkled as the cabbie stared back until he seemed to make another quick deduction. The smile disappeared as he breathed out softly, "Ahh. Three years ago – is that when they told you?"

"Told me what?" he asked the detective.

"That you're a dead man walking."

I looked over at the cabbie. My eyebrows scrunched together. "What? Is that really what this is about? You're _dying?_"

The driver ignored me as he said to Sherlock, "So are you."

Sherlock's head cocked ever so slightly to the right. "You don't have long, though. Am I right?"

The driver finally smiled at that. It was an answer he had. Perhaps proud of? "Aneurism," he said as he brought up a hand to tap the right side of his head. "Right in 'ere." The man nodded a little as he brought his hand down. Sherlock grinned at the fact that he was right. "Any breath could be my last."

"And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people," Sherlock said.

"I've outlived four people," the man cut in irritated. "That's the most fun you can 'ave on an aneurism."

"Still a killer," I muttered under my breath.

"No. No, there's something else," Sherlock began thoughtfully. "You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children."

The man looked away again as he sighed through his mouth. I slowly sat up straighter and stared at the man. My eyes widened a little. My hand squeezed Sherlock's knee again, but not out of reassurance. It was of pity this time. Sherlock had the weakness of his big ol' ego and I had one when it came to family. I swallowed and did my best to avert my eyes off of the cabbie. My hand on the detective squeezed even tighter and I noticed he gave the smallest of flinches at how painful my grip was getting.

Remember, Blu, that this man is a serial killer. Four victims. Four! It doesn't matter why he did what he did, children or not. Four dead and more could be added onto the list if this man somehow was able to even walk away from us. Don't pity him, stupid, hate him! Despise every single fibre of his being. Remember those four people. Remember the pink! The dead woman in pink on the floor. Dead forever and always because this man had aneurism…and was helping his children somehow because of it…

I put a hand to my head as the cabbie spoke. "Ohh." He licked his lips and gave a nod as he looked back at Sherlock. "You are good, ain't you?"

"But how?" the detective asked.

"When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."

"Or serial killing."

"You'd be surprised."

"Surprise me."

The cabbie leaned forward just like Sherlock was. "I 'ave a sponsor."

"You have a what?" Sherlock asked.

I slowly lowered my hand and looked at the driver, well, his chest, that is. My eyebrows scrunched a little together. "Somebody's paying you? To kill? For your kids?"

The cabbie nodded. "Somebody's got it," he said with the hint of a smirk as he stared at Sherlock. I frowned. "For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think."

"Who'd sponsor a serial killer?"

"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock 'olmes?" The two stared at each other. My eyes flicked from one man to the other. "You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man...and they're so much more than that."

The side of Sherlock's nose twitched in distaste at that comment. "What d'you mean, more than a man? An organization? What?"

"There's a name no one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter," the cabbie said. He nodded down at the bottles on the table. "Time to choose."

Sherlock slowly peeled his eyes off of the driver. He stared them both in thought before returning his attention to the man. "What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here."

The driver sighed through his mouth and brought up a gun. He trained it on the detective for a moment, before deciding on changing direction. I sighed myself as I found the weapon now pointing at me. Here comes the blackmail part I had been waiting for. I tensed up, ready for the man to shoot, and gave Sherlock a quick glance. My muscles slowly went back to normal, though, when I saw how calm he looked. I blinked confused and studied the gun.

Was I missing something here or did Sherlock not care if I got shot?

"You can take your fifty-fifty chance," the cabbie told the detective, "or I can shoot her in the head. Funnily enough, no one's ever gone for that option, though, they themselves have always been alone with me."

Sherlock actually smiled a little. "I'll have the gun, please."

My eyes widened and I stiffened up again. "Are you sure? You want me to shoot her?" the cabbie asked.

"Definitely. The gun."

"You don't wanna phone a friend?"

Sherlock's smile grew in confidence. "The gun."

The man's mouth tightened. I swallowed and closed my eyes tightly as his finger started to tighten on the trigger. My hand was now hurting from how hard I was clenching Sherlock's leg. The gun clicked and I waited for the impact, but nothing happened. Slowly I re-opened my eyes and found that a bit of fire was coming out of the barrel of the gun. I let out a soft sigh of relief and leaned back in my seat. I closed my eyes as I leaned my head back and just took in a deep breath.

Not dead. Definitely not dead. Absolutely, positively, not dead.

"I know a real gun when I see one," Sherlock told the man. "Very disappointed in you, though, Blu. I thought I taught you better."

I forced my eyes to open again to see him staring at the gun and then down at my hand on his leg. My hand at this point was so tight on his leg that the rest of my arm was shaking a bit. Sherlock's eyes came up and met mine. I suddenly felt small compared to him at the look he was giving me. He really was disappointed that I hadn't known…or was he upset that I didn't trust his judgment of the gun being fake? Instead of pondering too much on his emotions, I just loosened my hand and brought it back to my person. I folded my arms over my chest and averted my eyes.

The cabbie across from us brought the gun back to him and released his finger on the trigger. The flame instantly disappeared. "None of the others did," he said, directing Sherlock's attention back to the man.

"Clearly," Sherlock said with a hint of sarcasm. "Well, this has been _very_ interesting. I look forward to the court case."

He stood instantly to his feet and gripped my wrist. I blinked in surprise as he roughly pulled me up and forced me behind him as he walked towards the door. I gave a glance behind me and saw the cabbie staring ahead at where the detective and I had been sitting as he placed the gun on the table. He calmly turned in his seat and looked at us.

"Just before you go, did you figure it out…?" he asked. Sherlock paused and half-turned to glance at the driver. I winced when his grip suddenly tightened on my wrist. His grip was somehow much tighter than mine…and this was my wrist. I bit my lip to hold the pain in. "…which one's the good bottle?"

"Of course," Sherlock told the man as if he were an idiot. "Child's play."

"Well, which one, then?"

"Sherlock," I warned softly when I saw the look in his eyes. He had opened the door slightly, but paused again as he looked back over at the man. His grip seemed to go back and forth between tightening and loosening up again. I could already feel a bruise appearing under his slender fingers. "Don't. Not this time. Please, Sherlock. Keep walking. Don't listen to him."

"Which one would you 'ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?" the cabbie continued on. I sadly shook my head slowly when Sherlock closed the door. The cabbie chuckled and Sherlock ignored me. "Come on," he taunted Sherlock as he gestured at the bottles with his head. "Play the game."

Sherlock's grip on my arm finally released and he slowly went back over to the table. I went to grab his coat in order to pull him back, but he didn't even give me a glance as he pushed me back with one hand. My eyes widened as I stumbled and fell onto my bottom, wincing a little as my head smacked against the door.

"Sherlock, don't!" I yelled at him. "Just walk away! He's taunting you!" When the detective ignored me and snatched up one of the bottles off the table, the one that hadn't been passed over to him earlier, I angrily growled deep in my throat and pulled at my hair. His ego! His damn ego!

"Oh," the cabbie said intrigued as he stared at the spot where the bottle had just been. Sherlock ignored him as he stared at the bottle he had picked. He was turning it every which way as he studied it. The cabbie picked up the other bottle."Interesting." As Sherlock continued to inspect his pill through the bottle, the driver opened his own and tipped it over into his hand. He held up the pill in front of his face. "So what d'you think?" He looked up at Sherlock and stood up to his feet. "Shall we? Really, what do you think?"

"Don't you dare be a bloody idiot, Sherlock Holmes!" I screamed at the detective who's eyes were still on that stupid pill.

"Can you beat me?" the cabbie asked Sherlock. "Are you clever enough to bet your life?" Sherlock finally looked up from his pill and at the man across from him. "I bet you get bored, don't you? I know you do. A man like you…" the man taunted as Sherlock undid the lid of his bottle. His eyes remained upright on the driver as he did it, "…so clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?" Sherlock held the pill between his right index finger and thumb. He brought it up above his head and observed it in the light for a better examination. "Still the addict." Slowly Sherlock lowered the pull and held it at more eye level. I kept wanting to close my eyes…but for some reason I just couldn't force myself to. There was nothing I could do to stop this. This was Sherlock's decision. The shaking of his hand proved how much he wanted to be right. "But this...this is what you're really addicted to, innit? You'd do anything...anything at all...to stop being bored."

"Please don't do this, Sherlock," I begged quietly as Sherlock's hand brought the pill closer to his mouth. The driver stared at him as he matched the detective's movement with his own pill. "Please…"

"You're not bored now, are you?" the cabbie asked as their hands grew closer to their mouths. Not able to take it anymore at the fact that Sherlock was actually going to do this, I brought up my hands and pressed them against my eyes until I saw stars. "Innit good?"

I screamed when a gunshot rang out and ducked down to the floor. My hands moved so they covered my head and my eyes shot wide open. I screamed again when I saw the cabbie's body on the floor with blood pooling out of a wound he now possessed from the bullet. With my breathing now rough and ragged, I swallowed and looked up at Sherlock who was staring at the man a bit in surprise at what had happened. His hands were up by his face, the pill nowhere in sight, and he was a fraction of a step farther from the man. He gave me a brief look, eyes a little wide like mine.

Neither one of us said a word as Sherlock then flung himself over the table near him. He bent over slightly and gazed out of the window through its new bullet hole. He must not have been able to see anything, though, because he he straightened up and hurriedly turned back around and moved over to the cabbie dying on the floor who was breathing heavily and coughing. Sherlock grabbed something off of the table and knelt down on the floor. I saw it was one of the pills as he held it before the cabbie's eyes so the man was forced to look at it.

"Was I right?" he demanded, not caring that the man was dying. All he wanted to know was if he was right and was about to win the game. His damn ego. "I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?" When the cabbie didn't answer him, Sherlock growled and hurled his pill at him. The cabbie recoiled a little and turned his head to avoid the pill. Sherlock stood up and stared down at him. "Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my 'fan'. I want a name."

"No," the man said weakly.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name."

When the cabbie shook his head slowly, Sherlock snarled angrily and brought his foot down upon the man's wounded shoulder. The cabbie cried out a little. "A name." The man cried out more. "Now." My body shook when I saw the look that came into Sherlock's eyes when the cabbie didn't answer. I'm not sure if I've ever seen the detective get so angry before…but I'm pretty sure I never want to again. Not many things can properly scare me in my life…but his face, though, right now… I shuddered as Sherlock's expression grew worse. He pressed his foot harder down on the man's shoulder, emitting a loud yell from the driver, as he screamed at him, "The NAME!"

I was going to be having nightmares about that face of Sherlock's for a long, long time.

"MORIARTY!" the driver cried out painfully.

"Sherlock?" I whispered to myself as the cabbie's eyes closed for the last time and his head rolled to the side.

Sherlock stepped away from the deceased man and looked away. His eyes stared at the wall nearest him and I saw him mouth Moriarty to himself. He continued to stare ahead of him for a few minutes before spinning suddenly on his heel and rushing over to me.

"Are you all right, Blu?" he asked.

He started to pull me up to my feet. When I was fully standing, I leaned back against the door and closed my eyes. I could deal with a dead body, but I don't think I've ever quite seen someone get shot right before my eyes before. And then there was the fact that Sherlock's face was still haunting me. God, I hope he never does that again. I gave another shudder and Sherlock placed his hands on my shoulders. In the distance police sirens were getting louder as they grew closer to our locations.

"Leave me alone," I murmured. I opened my eyes and found his bluish green orbs flicking all about my face. I shuddered once more when I thought once more of his demon face. I went to push him away from me, but he just grabbed my wrists and forced me still. I whimpered from the pain that flashed through my arm when he had grabbed the wrist that he had bruised earlier. "Sherlock!"

"Bluebell, stop," he told me. His hands released my wrists and cupped both of my cheeks. "Stop it right now. You are fine, okay? You are fine. Say it. Come on. You are fine."

"I'm fine," I breathed out slowly, nodding along. "I'm fine…I'm fine…" I closed my eyes again and exhaled loudly. Sherlock's hands fell away from my face and came back to my shoulders. My head fell forward then and I rested my forehead against Sherlock's chest.

* * *

Later, Sherlock and I sat together on the back steps of an ambulance. Sherlock frowned when a paramedic placed an orange blanket that was large enough to wrap around both the detective's and my shoulders. Lestrade came over as I rested the side of my head on his shoulder.

Sherlock gestured to the blanket on us.

"Why have we got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on us," Sherlock said to Lestrade.

"Yeah, it's for shock," Lestrade explained

"I'm not in shock."

"Speak for yourself," I muttered, wrapping the part of the blanket that was on me tighter around me.

"Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs," Lestrade told him. He grinned as Sherlock rolled his eyes, but I noticed that the D.I.'s eyes flickered over to me with a small hint of concern.

"So, the shooter," I started loudly, wanting to move on. I didn't like the look I was being given. "No sign?"

"Cleared off before we got here. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but…," Lestrade gave a shrug,"… got nothing to go on."

Sherlock gave him a pointed look. "Oh, I wouldn't say that."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Okay, gimme."

Sherlock stood to his feet and I whimpered as the blanket was taken off of me. I quickly stood up and moved next to him and back under the orange fabric. "The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatized to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service…" Sherlock's head turned and he trailed off a little as he spotted something.

"Sherlock?" I questioned confused.

"...and nerves of steel…" Sherlock said, trailing off again. Lestrade and I stared at him and then followed his gaze to try and find what he was looking at. All I saw was John standing around looking at everything. "Actually, do you know what? Ignore me."

"Sorry?" Lestrade asked.

At the same time I said, "What?"

"Ignore all of that. It's just the, er, the shock talking."

Under the blanket, Sherlock grabbed my hand and started to pull me after him towards John. I was still stunned at the fact that he had told Lestrade to ignore him. Shock or not, he was never wrong.

"Where're you going?" the D.I. asked.

Sherlock stopped and looked back at Lestrade. "I just need to talk about the-the rent."

Sherlock began to walk again over to John but Lestrade kept our pace. "But I've still got questions for you."

Sherlock halted again and gave Lestrade an irritated look. "Oh, what now? I'm in shock! Look, we've got a blanket!" Sherlock told him, lifting the blanket up a bit to show to Lestrade proof about being in shock.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade exclaimed, getting just as irritated.

"And I just caught you a serial killer...more or less," the detective continued.

Lestrade crossed his arms and stared at Sherlock and me. He nodded his head after a few seconds. "Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go," he said with a gesture for us to leave.

"Come on, Blu," Sherlock murmured tugging me forward again.

As we walked over to John, Sherlock took off the blanket from his shoulders. He started to tug it off of mine as well, but I pulled away from him and brought it around my body. The detective rolled his eyes but kept quiet when I glared at him. When we got to the police tape, Sherlock ducked under it to join John on the other side. I started to do the same, but Sherlock quickly lifted up the tape. I smiled a little at the dark haired man and stepped under and beside him. He dropped the tape as I went and bumped his hip lightly with mine.

"Um," John began. He cleared his throat as Sherlock fixed his coat so the collar was properly upwards. "Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining…everything, the…two pills." John glanced away at something but then quickly brought his attention back over to us. "Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful."

Sherlock stared down at him. "Good shot," he quietly said.

My eyes widened somewhat. "That was you?" I asked just as quietly with a small smile.

John saved Sherlock's life. John Watson saved Sherlock Holmes' life!

John tried to appear innocent but failed miserably. I chuckled quietly under my breath. "Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window."

"Well, you'd know," Sherlock said to him. John stared back up at him. "Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case." John cleared his throat again and looked around nervously.

"Are you all right, John?" I asked him quietly. "You can share my blanket if you'd like to."

"Yes, of course I'm all right," John said, but he did grin a little as I teasingly brought up the orange blanket and swatted his nose a little with it.

"Well, you have just killed a man," Sherlock told him.

John's smile disappeared. "Yes, I…" he trailed off. Sherlock and I looked at him closely. After a moment John gave a nod. "That's true, innit?" He smiled again and I couldn't help but grin as well. Sherlock kept staring down at him. "But he wasn't a very nice man.

Sherlock nodded a bit in agreement as I laughed. "No. No, he wasn't really, was he?"

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie," John added.

I laughed louder as Sherlock chuckled. "That's true. He was a bad cabbie," Sherlock said. He found my hand again and started to lead me forward, even though I still had the blanket. Doubt they'd really miss it, though. John followed. "Should have seen the route he took us to get here!"

John started to giggle. "Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!"

"So?"

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me," Sherlock said.

"Keep your voice down!" John grinned.

Donovan passed us by and gave us a quick glance. I continued to laugh, ignoring the smirk she wore when she spotted Sherlock's and my hand intertwined. Let her think what she wanted for now. As long as Sherlock was still living and breathing (and I didn't have to see that awful face of his again) I was good and could care less what others thought at the moment.

John spotted the woman looking at us and quickly told her, "Sorry – it's just, um, nerves, I think."

"Sorry," Sherlock added on.

"I'm not," I said loudly, still giggling like a little school girl. Sherlock rolled his eyes at me, but I saw him smirk.

John cleared his throat awkwardly once we passed by and looked up at Sherlock, "You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?

"Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up," Sherlock said, looking back at the doctor. He then glanced at me and squeezed my hand. "You should have a little faith next time, Bluebell. Have you really learned nothing your time with me?"

I rolled my eyes, not believing a word he said. "Apparently not, Sherlock."

John didn't believe him either. "No you didn't. It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're an idiot," John and I said in unison. We then exchanged looks and gave identical smiles.

Sherlock smiled back a little bit. It then disappeared as he said, "Dinner?"

"Starving," John said.

I shrugged when I found both sets of eyes on me. "Sure…but if we have to run again, I'm out."

John chuckled as Sherlock rolled his eyes, his smile back for a split second, before leading me on. John quickly rushed to follow.

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two," Sherlock started. I grinned a little. I loved Chinese, though I hated when Sherlock tried to ruin my fortune cookie for me. "You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle."

"After what happened tonight, you are so paying for me," I told him, pulling him back a little so he was forced to look at me and see how serious I was being.

"So, not only am I paying for you to stay at the flat, but I'm also paying for your food?"

I shrugged a little, but smirked. "Pretty much. I think you owe me a little after that scare earlier, Mr. Ego."

"Sherlock, Blu," John interrupted us. We looked over at him. The doctor's eyes were staring at something, but he quickly glanced over at us. "That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about."

The detective and I both eyed the man. I groaned at the sight. "I know exactly who that is," Sherlock said.

Sherlock's hand tightened on mine as he took us over to the man as he stepped out of the vehicle he had been in. Sherlock stopped as the man shut the door. The detective wore an angry expression on his face. I sighed and brought the one side of my blanket tighter around me before leaning against Sherlock for support.

"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited...though that's never really your motivation, is it?" the man told Sherlock.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock demanded.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you."

"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'."

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no!"

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer...and you know how it always upset Mummy."

"I upset her? Me?" Sherlock said in disbelief. I rolled my eyes at how the Holmes brothers were behaving. The other glowered at Sherlock. "It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft."

"You two are behaving like children," I murmured, earning two sets of glares from both men. I shook my head at them. Another man that, when with Sherlock, acted so childish along with the detective when merely talking. It really is upsetting when I feel like another's mother and the childish people are older than me.

"No, no, wait," John said confused. I looked over at him. "Mummy? Who's Mummy?"

I grinned and laughed as Sherlock said, "Mother – our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft."

John stared in awe. I lightly patted his cheek when he then suddenly looked at me. "Bet ya didn't expect for the man that I punched to be Sherlock Holmes' only brother, huh?"

"You did not punch me," Mycroft scoffed in denial.

I laughed. "I explicitly remember there being a crunching noise and tons of blood when my fist collided with your nose."

As the man glared at me, Sherlock decided to also take a jab at his brother. "Putting on weight again?"

Mycroft turned back to Sherlock. "Losing it, in fact."

I snorted. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mycroft."

His glare returned to me.

"He's your brother?!" John asked Sherlock surprised. I gave the doctor a raised eyebrow. How was he not getting this?

"Of course he's my brother," Sherlock told him.

"So he's not…?"

"Not what?" Sherlock asked.

I gave a laugh when both brothers turned in sync to stare at John oddly.

"I dunno – criminal mastermind?"

"Close enough," Sherlock and I said together, staring over at the eldest Holmes brother.

"For goodness' sake," Mycroft said exasperated. He stared back over at Sherlock and me. "I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"He is the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis," Sherlock elaborated to John. Mycroft looked down and gave a sigh. I cracked a smile. "Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic."

Sherlock then walked away, still pulling me gently behind him. I slowly brought him to a stop, though, a good feet away when I saw that John was still behind talking with Mycroft. I forced the detective to wait until John finished up with Mycroft and had joined us again before I let him start walking forward again.

John came up on my other side. "So: dim sum."

"Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies," Sherlock said.

"Not always," I said with a roll of my eyes. The days when he couldn't predict my cookie, and ruin the surprise, were the best.

"No you can't," John said at the same time.

"Almost can," Sherlock said. "You did get shot, though," he indicated at the doctor.

"Sorry?"

"In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound."

"Oh, yeah. Shoulder."

"Shoulder! I thought so."

"No you didn't."

"The left one."

"Lucky guess."

"I never guess."

John laughed. "Yes you do."

I laughed along with the man, gently giving Sherlock's hand a squeeze. I then saw the smile on his face. "What are you so happy about, Sherlock?"

"Moriarty," Sherlock answered.

"You mean your so called 'fan'?" I asked confused.

"What's Moriarty?" John gave us both a puzzled look.

"I've absolutely no idea," Sherlock said happily.

I shook my head at him but then quickly remembered what had happened earlier with the cabbie. I paused for a second, forcing Sherlock to a halt. He grunted as I pulled him back slightly against me. John gave me an odd glance as I just gave the doctor a wide smile in return.

"What?" he asked. "What is it? Something wrong?"

I laughed and grasped his closest hand with my free one. I intertwined our fingers and squeezed as I brought him as close to me as I possibly could. His eyes widened a bit at the proximity between us and then became saucers as soon as I swooped in and brushed my lips against his own. My smile grew more as he got a little red in the face and looked over at the detective beside me.

"Thank you for saving Sherlock, John," I told him. "I'm glad to have you as part of our family." While John continued to glow brightly and Sherlock was blinking over at me, I laughed and started forward, pulling both of them along behind me. "Now, then. Chinese. Correct, boys?"

* * *

**So, sorry for being late again. It is currently almost Saturday at 6 in the morning. Had trouble finding time today to finish up the chapter, and when I did it was like ten at night. Really hope to still get the next chapter (which will start off right with The Blind Banker) out later today and start off the chapter I want to post tomorrow.**

**Haha, so, never noticed before, but Sherlock actually says "Child's play". That made me smile. The main reason I came up with Child's Play, was because I wanted something like the popular quote "Elementary, dear Watson" (yes I know that originally in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's books Sherlock doesn't say this quote) but I decided to be different and go with Child's Play because it's basically the same thing as Elementary. It's kind of cool, though, that Sherlock says Child's Play. **

**Besides that, this chapter...this _freakin'_ chapter, haha. I didn't expect it to be this freakin' long and I think it only gets better about halfway through (I really do think I did a terrible job describing Blu waking up from the drug, haha). Did you like the emotions, though, in this chapter? I can see Sherlock internally being more protective(?) with Blu after what happened, since he's a little angry about what happened, but not really thinking too much about it. And for Bluebell, she thinks that there's a good chance Sherlock is going to die (plus she loves him deeply) so at this point she doesn't care what she does when it comes to him and, as I wrote, what others think of them right at this very moment. **

**I'm really trying to show that with Bluebell she's very emotional when it comes to anything. She gets lots of frequent mood changes and tends to really show when she's angry or happy or whatever. And then there's Sherlock who's a sociopath. He doesn't get other people's emotions easily like he should. **

**Anywho, did you see the Princess Bride reference I made? I really wanted to put that in there. I'm not sure how the original story (Study in Scarlet, I believe) is like, but I knew about Princess Bride and how much it resembled that scene so it had to be done.**

**Hmm. Oh, yeah. Also, the part in the beginning of Sherlock when he's making the realization of the cabbie and all, there are the scenes in the episode of the victims coming across a taxi. I'm not sure if Sherlock actually sees these images in his head, or if they are just there for the viewer's benefit. Either way, I decided for my story that they are Sherlock's own thoughts. Made more sense to me, I guess.**

**Other than that, I think that's about it. Please comment, follow, and favorite please and thank-a you! They are all appreciated so much! Well, time for bed. Bye, y'all! **


	7. Chapter 7: Edward Van Coon

As I waited outside of the supermarket on a bench for John to finish getting groceries (I only came to get a few things that I myself needed/wanted), I fiddled with my phone. It had been roughly almost two months since the incident with the cabbie. It was right now nearing the end of March. Still quite cold. I wish John would hurry up so we could go back to the flat.

With my phone, I went into my email to check for any new ones. There were two. One from John (a forward) and the other from my sister Dahlia (which wasn't just sent to me, but two of my other sisters as well). I glanced over at the doors of the store to see if John was out yet, but since he wasn't I just decided to open the email and read what she wrote right there and then.

_Dear Zinnia, Peony, and Bluebell_

_ Hey, baby sisters! So, sorry for this email being almost a little over a month late. Cheryl and I were away for a good long bit and didn't have any access to the internet that entire time. Unlike Cher, I was okay with it, but I do wish I could have sent this out sooner. Now that she and I are back in France, though, here's the email! _

_ Anyway, happy belated birthday, you three! I've got presents for all of you so I'll send them as soon as possible (though you'll have to give me your new address Blu since Aunt Lily told me that you moved (good on you, little one!)). So happy to see the three of you growing up into three great young ladies. What's it like being 25? Feel older? Well, I hope you all spent your birthday well (not everyone has the lucky chance of having their birthdays on Valentines Day!). You three are so lucky. I wish my birthday was on Valentines Day. August is just so bleh. _

_ Off track again. So, presents will be sent out soon. And last thing. Peony, I'll definitely be there for the wedding next month. April 26th, correct? Yep. Definitely will be there. And Cher too! We are so happy for you, Peony! It'll be a marvelous day for sure. Zinnia and Blu, I hope you are there as well. Actually, you better be. This is your sister we are talking about. And you should two should definitely be there considering she's also your triplet. Speaking of you, Bluebell, I hope to see that young detective fellow again. Cher and I both agree that the two of you are a great match. I can see the children now!_

_ Well, that's all I wanted to say. Hugs and kisses for all three of you! See you all in a month! _

_ Love_

_ Dahlia and Cher_

_ xxx_

I groaned when I neared the end of the letter, though I couldn't help the blush at the statement of children with Sherlock. I had forgotten all about my sister's wedding. Thank goodness it was still a month away. That gave me more time to find a dress and such for it. And I've no idea what she means by hoping to see Sherlock there. I doubt half of the family would want Sherlock there. Actually, I doubt Sherlock would want to even be there. If Lia really wanted to meet him again, and I hazily remember Peony saying something about him definitely coming, I could always find a way to bring both Sherlock and John along. That way Sherlock would have another person to speak with and John could help me keep him in line.

"Why didn't you say your birthday was on Valentines Day?" John asked me. I jumped at the sound of his voice and found the doctor sitting next to me reading the email on my phone. I quickly turned off the device and stuffed it into my jacket pocket.

"I didn't want to disturb you guys, John," I told him truthfully with a shrug. "Sherlock was busy with a case, much more important than my birthday, and I didn't want to bug you with something that isn't too important."

John gave me an odd look. "How is your birthday not important, Blu? It's the day you came into this world. A very special day for you…and apparently two of your sisters as well?" I laughed when the doctor had a thoughtful look come onto his face. "Umm, how many siblings _do_ you exactly have, Blu? I always hear you talking about sisters, but I don't think I realized how many you had."

I turned to him and brought up my hands. I started to lift up a finger as I gave off a name. "Okay, John. Oldest to youngest. Marigold, Flora, Violet, Myrtle, Daisy, Dahlia, Iris, Camellia, Zinnia, Peony, and then me. Daisy and Dahlia are twins while Zinnia, Peony, and I are triplets. I have ten sisters, but there are eleven of us in total."

He blinked amazed. "Wow. Eleven of you? And you're all girls?"

I nodded and laughed. "Yeah, John. Eleven. All girls. And there's your fun fact about Bluebell Lavender for the day."

The doctor got confused again. "You're a nature expert…and all of you are named after flowers?"

I shook my head, and then nodded, causing John's face to grow ever more confused. "Sort of and yes. We're actually _all_ nature experts. Mum was a bit of a…nature obsessive maniac at heart. Because of that, she decided to name us all after flowers and forced us to learn all about nature when growing up. If I could forget my teachings from when I was little, I would. Sheesh. My last name shouldn't even be Lavender actually. Mum legally changed all of our last names when we were younger as soon as Zin, Ny, and I were born since Dad had passed away by then. She was really crazy when it came to nature." I rolled my eyes at the thought.

"Huh…"

"Yeah," I nodded. It was then that I noticed that he was empty-handed. I pointed at his hands that should've had groceries. "Missing something, Dr. Watson?"

"Yeah… Had a bit of a trouble with the machine in the store."

"What happened?"

"The machine wouldn't work so I yelled abuse at it and then left."

"I dearly hope you didn't make it cry. I might have to call your mother if you did," I teased him, waggling a finger in his face.

He smiled as he rolled his eyes, pushing my finger from his face. "You have any more cash so I can go in and pay?"

I smiled myself as I shook my head at him. "Sorry. Brought just enough for my stuff." Slowly I rose to my feet and grabbed John's arm, tugging him up as well. "Come on," I told him, locking my arm through his. "Let's grab a taxi home and see what the great Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes can do for you."

* * *

When we got back to the flat, I jogged ahead of John and into the living room. Sherlock sat in his favorite chair by the fireplace with a book in hand that he was reading. He was still in the same spot as earlier. I suspiciously eyed him as I took my stuff and put it inside of the fridge followed by quickly running into his bedroom to grab a bit more money. When I came back over and took the seat across from Sherlock, John was glancing around the room. I grabbed my laptop off the floor and plugged in my earphones. I only put one of the buds in, though, as I listened to my music and started to search for a movie to perhaps watch.

"You took your time," Sherlock said without looking up.

"Blame Dr. Watson," I murmured, typing away on the keyboard

I grinned as John gave me a glare. "Yeah, I didn't get the shopping."

Sherlock looked confused as he brought his book down it to stare at John. "What? Why not?"

I snorted when John grew tetchy. "Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine."

Sherlock lowered his book more and gave John an odd look. "You...you had a row with a machine?"

John averted his eyes. "Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse." Sherlock gave a small amused smile while I laughed. It was funnier to hear him say that the second time.

"I really wish I could've watched," I snickered as I went through a list of movies to watch off of my computer.

John glowered at me. "Have you got cash?" he then asked Sherlock, bringing his eyes back to the man.

The detective gestured slightly towards the kitchen with his chin. "Take my card."

John started to walk towards the kitchen, but he stopped halfway there and turned back to Sherlock. "You could always go yourself, you know. You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since we left." As John continued into the kitchen, I saw the glazed look that came into Sherlock's eyes as he thought of something. I shook my head with a small grin as I went back to picking out a movie. Sherlock blinked and tried to appear nonchalant as he turned the page in his book. "And what happened about that case you were offered – the Jaria Diamond?"

I heard a snap and saw Sherlock had placed a small piece of paper in his book to hold his place before shutting it. "Not interested." I started to look back down at my screen, but heard a soft clanging noise. I quickly looked back up with a raised eyebrow and saw Sherlock giving me a knowing look as his foot, which was on a blade of some sort, came backwards, sliding the weapon out of sight under his chair. I shook my head at him again and chuckled softly under my breath. "I sent them a message."

"I bet you did, Sherlock," I said to the dark haired man, returning his knowing look. One of my eyebrows slowly rose up my forehead before I went back to my laptop.

"Ugh, Holmes," I heard John say with an exasperated sigh.

I turned to look back at the doctor as he ran a finger over the table in the kitchen. I sighed myself. Judging by the look John was giving Sherlock, a mark must've been left on the table from that blade that was now hiding under Sherlock's chair. Looking back at Sherlock I saw him innocently shake his head, indicating that he had no idea as to where the mark could have possibly come from. I rolled my eyes whilst John gave an annoyed tut and walked back out of the flat.

"I don't see why you couldn't have just told him the truth," I told Sherlock once I was positive that John was out of earshot. "He'd understand easily. He did pretty well when I told him some stuff about my sisters. Was surprised, but took it fairly well. Better than most, at least."

Sherlock shrugged and placed his book down on the floor. When he came back up, he held the weapon that he had slid under his chair. "The case is over. There's isn't much point in telling him now, is there?" he said as he inspected the blade, carefully running his fingers over it. I half waited for him to cut his finger on the thing. I instead rolled my eyes as he finished studying the weapon and started to harmlessly swing it in front of him.

"You gonna tell me how the fight went?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

He frowned as he kept swinging the weapon. "Quite boring, actually. It was over before it even started. I need someone better to fight against. More brains and less foolishness."

I raised an eyebrow. "The man had a weapon…"

"So?" he asked as if the statement meant nothing.

I rolled my eyes but went back to my screen. "Please don't ruin anything else in our flat, Sherlock," I teased him when he just kept swinging the weapon. "I think the scarring of the table is enough for today, don't you think?"

"Ah, speaking of…" Sherlock began. I instantly had my attention on him. I frowned when he continued to swing the blade so he could keep his eyes off of me. I narrowed mine, though. "Your iPod may or may not be destroyed."

"What?!" I exclaimed, instantly turning in my seat to search for it.

The detective stopped swinging and stood to his feet. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out my device. "It was almost stepped upon, so I saved it, but I was thrown about quite a little bit."

I grimaced as I took it from him and spotted the cracks that had now formed on the screen. I quickly turned it on and swore when I saw another crack in the screen that was only noticeable when the iPod was lit up. My frown hardened as well as my eyes as he walked out of the room to probably go and put the blade away.

"You're buying me a new one!" I shouted at him once he was out of the room.

With a soft sigh, I dropped the iPod on the floor between my feet. I didn't quite care for the thing now and he definitely was going to buy me a new one. I shook my head as I returned to the movies on my laptop to watch. My cousin really did put too many on this thing last time he saw me. I couldn't decide which one I wanted to watch. In the end I just closed the lid of my laptop and placed it on the floor along with my iPod. I moved the pillow I sat on so it was behind my head and brought my legs up so they hung over one of the arm rests. Just as I closed my eyes and tightly wrapped my arms around me, I saw Sherlock walk past with a bored expression on his face. A moment later I felt something get placed on top of me, but I didn't think much of it as I let myself drift off to sleep.

* * *

When I later woke up, I stood up with closed eyes and stretched my arms above my head tiredly, smiling a little when I heard my muscles cracking. Something flopped down to the floor and I opened my eyes to peer down at what it was. I blinked when I saw that it was a blanket, more specifically my shock blanket from the cabbie incident. I slowly bent over and picked it up while keeping my eyes on the only man in the room who could have possibly placed it on me. As I grasped the orange fabric and brought it around my shoulders, I started to open my mouth, but got cut off by loud footsteps and John's voice coming up the steps.

"Don't worry about me. I can manage," he told us sarcastically.

"Sorry," I called back to John, though I kept my eyes on Sherlock who was sitting at the table in the living room. An open laptop sat before him while his hands were folded in front of his mouth as he silently read whatever it was on the screen. I slowly made my way over and stood beside him to examine the email he had.

Something about an old acquaintance named Sebastian and something happening at a bank. Apparently the man wanted Sherlock's help because he heard that the man next to me was a consultant.

"Is that my computer?" John asked the detective.

"Of course," Sherlock said as he started to type.

"What?!"

"Mine was in the bedroom," Sherlock explained.

"And he isn't allowed to touch mine," I told the doctor, giving him an apologetic look. Whoops. Guess I never told the man about Sherlock and his stealing stuff when too lazy.

John gave Sherlock an odd look as he took off his coat. "What, and you couldn't be bothered to get up?" Sherlock didn't answer him. John then got irritated when he realized something. "It's password protected!"

Sherlock continued to type. "In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours." He gave the man a glance. "Not exactly Fort Knox."

"Right, thank you," John told the detective, his voice dripping with annoyance.

I grinned as John reached over to his laptop and slammed the lid down. Sherlock barely got his fingers out of the way from being squished. "That's why I change my password every day," I told the doctor with a laugh as he took his laptop over to the chair that I had been sleeping in earlier.

The man ignored me as he put his laptop on the floor beside my own and my iPod and snatched up the letters that were on the table beside him. I rolled my eyes and brought my hands onto the back of Sherlock's chair. Seeing that he had his hands up in a prayer position in front of his mouth, I moved my chin onto his shoulder and eyed him.

"What's on your mind? That email?" I murmured, soft enough that only he heard me. He gave the smallest of nods in return.

"Oh," John said. We both ignored him. Sherlock was still in thought and I was carefully watching him. "Need to get a job."

"Oh, dull," Sherlock said to him. His hands moved so they were now intertwined and he rested his lips against them.

"Do you need help searching, John?" I asked the doctor. "I could go out and look around for you if you'd like."

John shook his head when I gave him a quick glance. "I'm fine, Blu," he told me as he glanced at the table and the bills that were there once more. "I can search by myself." When I nodded, he leaned forward and awkwardly stared holes in the back of Sherlock's head. "Listen, um...if you'd be able to lend me some…" John trailed off when he saw that Sherlock wasn't exactly paying attention to him. "Sherlock, are you listening?"

"I need to go to the bank," Sherlock said still facing forward.

He then suddenly got up, giving me no warning whatsoever. I had to quickly step back when he pushed the chair backwards and stood up. I huffed at his backside as he grabbed his coat off of the hook by the door. I dropped my orange blanket to the floor and waited for John to quickly put away the groceries before dashing after the detective with the doctor on my heels.

* * *

Sherlock must have been taking us to this Sebastian fellow because this bank was definitely not one of his, John's or mine so we weren't getting out any money. As Sherlock led John and me through revolving glass doors, I caught a quick glimpse of the name of the bank etched on some of the doors. Shad Sanderson Bank.

"Yes, when you said we were going to the bank…," John trailed off as he looked around in awe.

Sherlock stepped onto the escalator ahead of us. Together John and I joined him by moving onto the same step. John continued to look around with slightly wide eyes. I laughed at him and bumped him with my hip with a wide grin. He looked like a small child. The doctor smiled back at me and returned the hip bump. My smile widened at the fact that he did it back. Sherlock never bumped me back. He actually never did a lot of things back. It was nice that John would play with me.

"We are here for a case, John," I told him softly when we reached the top of the escalator. Sherlock marched ahead to the reception desk with John and I trailing after him. "I read part of his email over his shoulder."

When we reached the desk, Sherlock gave the smallest of smiles. "Sherlock Holmes," he told the woman.

A little while later the three of us were standing inside of the office of a man called Sebastian Wilke. We patiently waited a few minutes in an awkward silence before the man walked in. He had dark short hair and wore a business suit, which made sense since he worked in a bank. He gave Sherlock a grin.

"Sherlock Holmes," Sebastian greeted.

"Sebastian," Sherlock said back. He removed one of his hands that was behind his back and shook Sebastian's. Sebastian in turn brought his second hand up and clasped Sherlock's own with his second. Sherlock smiled politely.

"Howdy, buddy. How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?" Sebastian asked.

When Sebastian eyed John and me, Sherlock told him, "These are my friends Bluebell Lavender and John Watson." I took a small step behind John at the look that Sebastian was giving us, well, me really. It was very uncomfortable.

"Friends?" Sebastian asked Sherlock, almost like he had heard the detective wrong.

"Colleague," John corrected. I gave the doctor an odd look at wanting to make himself Sherlock's colleague instead of friend.

"Right," Sebastian said before shaking John's hand. He gave Sherlock a small knowing look."And you?" the man asked once he and John released hands. He smiled at me and brought his hand up to shake mine as well. I gave Sherlock a quick glance and then stared at the man's hand. I really didn't want to shake his hand. Something didn't feel right. "Colleague as well, I presume?"

"Umm no, no," I shook my head, my eyebrows knitting together at the word. "Not colleague. Definitely not just a colleague. Rubbish word, actually."

Sebastian gave me the strangest look. His eyebrows knitted together as well when I didn't continue on and explain what I was nor when I shook his hand. He blinked and awkwardly brought his hand back to scratch the back of his neck. While John glanced at the floor and pursed his lips, I looked up at Sherlock as he stared at Sebastian's wrist and the watch that resided there.

"Well, grab a pew. D'you need anything? Coffee, water?" Sebastian asked us as he moved behind his desk. When Sherlock shook his head and John and I both said no, the man looked at us once more. "No?" He then said to his secretary as he took a seat, "We're all sorted here, thanks."

The woman left and Sherlock and John took the two chairs that sat across from the man. There were a few more chairs off on the side to use, but I just decided to stand in the middle of Sherlock and John with a hand on each boy's seat.

"So, you're doing well. You've been abroad a lot," Sherlock said to Sebastian.

Sebastian gave a small shrug with his fingers together in the centre of his chest. "Well, some."

"Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?"

John gave a frown and looked over at Sherlock, probably wondering how the heck he knew that. I figured it had to do with Sebastian's watch from how focused Sherlock had been looking at it.

Sebastian laughed and pointed at Sherlock with one of his index fingers. "Right. You're doing that thing." He looked over at John and me as his hands came back together. "We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do."

I frowned as Sherlock said quietly, "It's not a trick."

Sebastian ignored the detective as he continued, "He could look at you and tell you your whole life story."

John looked over at Sherlock for a moment. "Yes, I've seen him do it."

I nodded and added quietly, "I as well. Loads of times."

"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him," Sebastian told us.

I blinked at how this man, who was asking Sherlock for help, had the audacity to say something like that with a smile on his face with Sherlock in the room. My eyes flickered over to the curly dark haired man next to me who was looking down. He tried not to let it show, but his face was filled with pain at the statement. I glared at Sebastian while my hands clenched both chairs tightly.

"You'd come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night," the man continued on.

My hands tightened even more if possible on the chairs, especially when he said the word 'freak'. I saw both boys who sat in the chairs give me the faintest glances. I don't think that Sebastian noticed how much my muscles had tightened up, though.

I didn't take too well to threats on my family. And the thing was, after five years of knowing this guy, I considered Sherlock family. Threatening him was like basically threatening me. Yes, the man was technically not threatening him…but Sherlock was hurting deep down. He was being made fun of by a man who knew him from school. I always knew Sherlock had had a rough childhood because of his amazing ability to deduce people by just observing, but to actually _hear _the hurtful words be directed at him from this man…

This was close enough to a threat.

I had to do something. I had to protect my family.

What though?

"I simply observed," Sherlock told the man, still quietly. His eyes remained downcast and it hurt my heart to see that he couldn't even look this man in the eye to respond.

Sebastian put his hands on his knees and leaned back more. "Go on, enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world – you're quite right. How could you tell?" Sherlock finally looked up at the man, ready to prove that he actually knew what he was doing, but Sebastian cut him off with a smug look, glancing over at John and me. "You're gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan."

When Sebastian looked back over at Sherlock, I smacked John in the back of the head when the doctor gave a smile at the man's words. John frowned at me confused as he rubbed where I had hit him. I glared back down at him and tried to do my best to discreetly nod at Sherlock's face, hopping that John would see it.

"No, I…" Sherlock started to say.

Sebastian talked over him as he looked back at us. "Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!"

When Sebastian stared back over at Sherlock, the detective looked back for a few seconds before finally saying, "I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me."

I think my heart actually broke in two to hear Sherlock actually _lie_ about how he deduced this man than to let Sebastian make fun of him more for the fact that he actually _could_ deduce people by just _observing._

John frowned at Sherlock confused and I moved my hand onto the detective's shoulder. I gently squeezed for comfort as Sebastian laughed humorously and Sherlock forced a smile back.

I think Sherlock was just trying to irritate the man by making it seem that his discovery was simple and all, but I still wanted to help just a little. I couldn't just stand around and do nothing.

I knew what to do…hopefully I didn't regret it.

"Mr. Wilke," I loudly stated with a devious smile.

"Yes, Miss Lavender?" he asked, looking up at me.

I crinkled my nose. "No Miss. Rubbish title. Just call me Bluebell please."

"All right, Bluebell," he said with a smile. "How may I help you?"

I released John's chair and moved behind Sherlock's. I grinned over at the man behind the desk as I placed my other hand on the detective's other shoulder and my chin on his head. I tried not to sneeze when his curls brushed against my nose. John looked confused as he curiously eyed us.

"I never did get to tell you what I was to Sherlock, Mr. Wilke," I said softly.

The man's smile slowly disappeared as he stared at us. I felt Sherlock underneath me tense up just the slightest bit. Enough for me to feel, but not where the others could tell he had. My hands dropped off of Sherlock's shoulders and moved instead so they were wrapped around his neck.

"And what's that, Mi - I mean, Bluebell?"

I laughed at him teasingly. "His girlfriend, of course. Couldn't you tell? I thought it obvious enough."

The man and John's mouths opened in sync to gape at us. "G-Girlfriend?" Sebastian asked in a stunned voice. "Sherlock Holmes?"

I'm really going to regret this later…but it's worth it to make Sherlock look good and to stupefy this man.

I cocked my head at him. "Of course."

And to add onto my lie, I kissed Sherlock's left temple, letting my lips linger on his skin long enough to make it look believable. While John and Sebastian continued to stare openmouthed at us, Sherlock's muscles slowly relaxed and he began to grow a bit confident as he sat up just a little bit straighter. One of his gloved hands came up and intertwined fingers with one of my hands.

I brought my lips near his ear so they just brushed against his skin. "You _so_ owe me, Sherlock."

Sherlock gave the smallest of smiles while John started to blink at us with saucer eyes. "Thank you," he breathed out so only I could hear him.

"No problem, Mr. Holmes," I murmured, causing his chest to rumble as he chuckled a little. I pecked his temple again. "So, Mr. Wilke," I said louder, bringing my chin so it rested on Sherlock's head again. "Was there a reason for our gathering here today?"

Sebastian cleared his throat awkwardly and averted his eyes for a split second. When he brought his attention back to us, he clapped his hands together, now back to business. "I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break-in."

The man rose to his feet and walked out of his office. I moved off of Sherlock to let him get up but immediately locked my arm with his once he was on his feet. I was going to keep up my act of being his girlfriend as long as I could while we were around Sebastian. Anything to make Sherlock look a little better in front of that man and to help the detective have some confidence. John quickly rushed after us as we walked out of the room.

"Sir William's office – the bank's former Chairman," Sebastian told us once he knew we were behind him. "The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."

"What did they steal?" John and I asked together.

"Nothing," Sebastian looked back at us. "Just left a little message."

Sebastian held his security card up to a reader in order to unlock the door next to it. We followed after him as he stepped into the room. Instantly my eyes locked onto the painting on the wall directly across from us. It stood out from the yellow paint that had been graffitied right across the eyes. Some paint had also dribbled down onto more of the body from the mark. Next to the painting was more of the yellow paint but in the form of some symbols. One of the tags on the wall looked vaguely like a number 8 but with the top of the number left open while the one above it reminded me of an almost horizontal straight line.

Sebastian brought us over to the desk and then stepped aside. Sherlock and I came up on his right side while John came up on his other. Sebastian expectantly watched Sherlock as the detective stared at the graffiti with studying eyes.

After Sherlock finished up just staring at the markings, Sebastian brought us back into his own office. He indicated us to come onto his side of the desk as he pressed a button on his keyboard, causing footage of the office the previous night to appear.

"Sixty seconds apart," Sebastian told us.

He pressed another button and went back and forth between showing us still photos taken at 23:34:01, which showed the paint on the wall and on the portrait, and a minute earlier at 23:33:01 when the wall and portrait were still clean.

I blinked. "They came in, graffitied the wall and portrait, and left all in roughly a minute?" I asked astonished. Sebastian gave me a nod whilst stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. "Wow."

"How many ways into that office?" Sherlock asked Sebastian.

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting," Sebastian told the detective.

Sebastian led us back to the reception area. He took us behind the desks and pulled up a screen on one of the computers that was a layout of the trading floor and its surrounding offices.

Each indicated door had a light against it showing its security status.

"Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet," Sebastian explained just before closing out of the layout.

"That door didn't open last night," Sherlock said, still staring at where the layout had been.

The man fixed his jacket by pulling a bit at the lapels and buttoning them together. "There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you – five figures." To show, he pulled out a check from his breast pocket of his jacket. "This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way."

"I don't need an incentive, Sebastian," Sherlock told the man. I bit my lip to hold in a laugh at the expression on John's face. Before I had the chance to comment on it, Sherlock pulled me along as he walked around the man with the check.

"Hurry along, John!" I called over my shoulder at the doctor who was still behind with Sebastian.

Back in the office I stood with my hands on my hips as I watched Sherlock take pictures of the graffiti marks with his phone. When he finished and put away his phone, he slowly started to turn with a thoughtful expression to the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave off a wonderful view of the nearby Swiss Re Tower. He seemed to frown a bit as he looked away for a moment before returning his attention to the window and its view. I silently watched as he walked over to one of the windows and pulled up its blinds. I came over and leaned against the glass as he opened the window and stepped out onto the balcony. I shuddered as he looked out at London and then stared down at the ground below.

No clue how Sherlock could just stand there so calmly. I'd freak out if I saw how high I was off of the ground.

I swallowed and teasingly said with a forced smile, "Don't jump, Sherlock."

In answer to my teasing, Sherlock looked back up. He glanced once more around him as he bit his lip in thought. After a few more moments, he finally stepped back into the office and closed the window. As he walked out of the office, I quickly lowered the blinds again before dashing after him.

I really wished I hadn't.

Outside of the office on the trading floor, I found Sherlock maneuvering about it. He had been ducking behind a desk at first when I spotted him, but had then slowly risen and started to move about with his eyes fixed on the glass doorway of the room with the portrait. I face-palmed as he went behind another desk and ducked down, only to jump back up.

Everyone was staring with looks of shock, bemusement, and confusion. Some even had a mixture of all three.

Sherlock continued on, though, not caring what others thought.

He slightly ducked a little behind one of the desks again and kept popping up and down behind it as he peered over at the office with the portrait. When he rose up again, he moved once more about the floor and twirled around a column, knocking into it but not caring as his eyes remained on the portrait. I slowly followed after him as he stopped in a doorway and wiggled about as he stared at that same spot. He then suddenly turned and darted into the office behind him so he stood behind the desk. Sherlock stopped behind the chair, his eyes narrowing a bit, before trying another part of the desk. Just as I came up to the office with folded arms, he was behind the chair once more staring across the room at the office with the portrait. I found a spot just a little behind him and peered over his shoulder. From this spot, anyone had a perfect view of the portrait and the mark across the eyes.

Sherlock smiled a little and stood up straighter since he now got what he was looking for. I watched him as ten he started to glance around for some identification of who it was who worked in the office. I sighed and grabbed his hand, pulling him with me to the doorway. There I released him and pointed at the plaques on the glass door.

The office belonged to a Edward Van Coon who was the Hong Kong Desk Head.

Sherlock scanned both signs before hastily pulling the Edward Van Coon one out of its holder. With a small gesture of his head, he led me forward and out of the office with his eyes staring holes in the sign.

A few minutes later we had met up with John. Sherlock still was in the front as he led us towards the escalators and thus the exit/entrance.

"Two trips around the world this month. You didn't ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him," John said to Sherlock.

Sherlock grinned and didn't respond. I smiled sadly at the memory…and then instantly blushed at what I had done.

"How did you know?" John asked him.

"Did you see his watch?" Sherlock asked back.

"His watch?"

I forced my cheeks to return to normal as I raised an eyebrow at the detective. "Is that why you were looking at it?"

John blinked at me. "You saw it?"

I shook my head. "Not the watch itself, no. I only saw Sherlock studying it."

"The time was right but the date was wrong," Sherlock elaborated to us. "Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn't alter it."

"Within a month? How'd you get that part?" John said.

"New Breitling. Only came out this February."

We got onto one of the escalators and started to ride it down, but Sherlock must've grew impatient with it because he started to walk down the steps. John and I took example and walked down the steps as well in order to keep up with him.

"Okay. So d'you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?" John asked us.

I shook my head. "Nope."

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks," Sherlock added on.

"Hmm?"

I laughed and patted the doctor on the shoulder as we stepped onto another escalator. "That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and…," Sherlock trailed off for the sentence to be finished.

"…they'll lead us to the person who sent it," John finished in understanding.

"Obvious."

I gave John a nod of approval as I tweaked his nose. "Now you're getting it, John."

"Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?" John asked, glancing at Sherlock for the answer.

"Pillars," the detective and I answered.

"What?"

"Pillars and the screens," Sherlock continued in more depth. "Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot."

"Does it?"

Sherlock led us over to the rotating glass doors. I smiled to myself and adjusted my glasses as they tinted and became like sunglasses against the sun. "Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight." We were outside by this point. Sherlock brought up the name card that he had stolen from the bank office as we walked forward, showing it to John. "Not many Van Coons in the phonebook." As the doctor and I exchanged glances, Sherlock quickly reached out a hand towards the street and called, "Taxi!"

* * *

The taxi pulled to a stop outside of a block of flats. Sherlock got out and walked instantly over to the flats, leaving me and John to look at the other. I sighed and reached into my pocket as the driver watched us, waiting for his fee.

"I pay this time, you pay next?" I asked John as I put the correct amount of money in the cabbie's hand. "And if Sherlock keeps forcing us to take taxis and doesn't pay himself, I'll steal his wallet?"

John laughed as he stepped out first with me following him. "Sounds like a plan. Does he always do that? Force you to pay, that is."

"Only when I have money on me to spare," I muttered. "And somehow he always seems to know when I do."

The two of us came up behind Sherlock just as he pressed a finger to the door buzzer by the name Van Coon. After a minute of just holding it, he released and looked into the security camera above the buzzer, waiting for someone to answer. When there wasn't an answer, he tried again…only to still not receive an answer.

"So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?" John asked with his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.

"I don't want to just wait here," I whined, latching onto John when a strong breeze went by, causing goosebumps to rise over my arms. I shivered. "It's cold!"

As Sherlock looked at the number of buzzers on the wall, John gave me a pointed look as he eyed my clothing. I had on jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt with a white sleeveless hoodie over top of it. I had forced the hood over my head as soon as another breeze went by.

"And who's fault's that, Blu?"

"I was told we were going to the bank, that's it!"

"Would you care for my jacket?" John asked while Sherlock took a small step back and looked up at the layout of the building.

I thought about it, but then frowned and shook my head. "You'll be without a coat then."

"It's fine. Really," the doctor started to say, already beginning to slip off his coat.

Sherlock cut him off as he gave us a triumphant look. "Just moved in."

"What?" we blinked at him. John paused in getting his coat off.

"The floor above. New label," Sherlock explained as he pointed at the label above Van Coon's name. The name was Wintle and was handwritten on a white piece of paper.

"Could have just replaced it," John argued.

Sherlock pressed the buzzer next to the handwritten one. Once he released it, looked back over at us. "No one ever does that."

"Seriously?" I murmured, just before a woman's voice came onto over the intercom.

"Hello?"

And just like that, Sherlock shifted into helpless mode.

He really should consider being an actor one day. Maybe off on the side when he's bored and doesn't have any cases…

Sherlock turned to the camera with an innocent face. "Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don't think we've met." He gave the camera a smile to go along with his innocent voice.

Since I knew Sherlock, it was funny seeing him act like this, case or not. If I would've been on the other side of that intercom, though, I'd have fallen for his deceitful look in seconds. It makes my heart aflutter just staring at him as he tried to be cute and innocent for this lucky woman.

"No, well, uh, I've just moved in," the woman answered back.

Sherlock gave us the briefest of 'I told you' glances before returning to the camera and intercom. "Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat," Sherlock lied to the woman. He grimaced helplessly and bit his lip to make him look even more so.

Stay cool, Bluebell.

I could literally feel my heart speed up even more than it had already done earlier. I was ready to melt at the sight of the detective looking so adorable. I tightened my hold on John and hurriedly bit my lip to remain calm.

"D'you want me to buzz you in?" Wintle asked him.

"Yeah," he said back. And then in a serious voice, "And can I use your balcony?"

"What?"

* * *

A little later we were in the building and Sherlock had gotten into the woman's flat. While he went and used her balcony to sneak into Van Coon's flat, John and I took the simple route and just went to the man's door. We stood next to the other as we waited for Sherlock to let us in.

John glanced at me as he pushed the buzzer next to the door. "So, you and Sherlock, huh? I thought two you weren't a couple." He eyed me for a few more seconds before looking at the door. "Sherlock," he quickly called through it. I could just barely make out a bit of shuffling inside, indicating that the detective was definitely in the flat snooping about.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" I said to the man through the door, knocking lightly on it as I did so. I pressed my ear against the door and glanced back at John. "We're not, John. I lied."

He blinked. "Why would you do that?"

I gazed at him sadly, causing him to frown. "Didn't you see how hurtful Sebastian was being to Sherlock?" I whispered. "It was so painful to look at. I couldn't just stand around and do nothing. I needed to do something that would make Sherlock look good and shut that man up once and for all. That's why I swatted you too. You weren't quite seeing it and were making it worse by smiling at that man's words."

John swallowed and then quickly called through the door to the detective as he averted his eyes, "Yeah, any time you feel like letting us in."

There was a crash on the other side and I blinked surprised. I knocked again on the door. "Sherlock? Everything all right in there?"

A moment later my phone buzzed. John and I both gave my pocket a glance. I quickly stood up straight and reached into my pocket. As I pulled it out, John came over beside me and together we looked at the message.

**Phone Lestrade. Van Coon is dead.**

**SH**

As John and I blinked at the other with wide eyes, the door clicked. It opened a second later and revealed Sherlock who was as serene as ever, unfazed by what he found and had thus reported to us.

* * *

**I'm still a day behind with my schedule. Ugh! Welp, I'm just going to start typing the next part and update as soon as its finished. This is so annoying! **

**Anywho, did ya like it? Did ya? Huh? This chapter was fun to write. More stuff happens in Blind Banker so yay! **

**And then there's that small part that I HAD to put in in Sebastian's office. Every time I watch that part, I want to slap the man. Bluebell had a much better idea, though. ;D  
**

**More information on Blu and family at beginning. Hope you caught the part on the wedding. And to just let people know if you want to check it out, I'm using John Watson's blog (that you can find by just searching it up on the internet) for the dates and things of when cases took place. **

**And I really think that's it for this chapter. Comments, favorites, and follows are greatly appreciated. Please don't be afraid! You guys don't realize how much these things mean to me! **

**Well, until next time! Byez, y'all!**


	8. Chapter 8: Spider-Man

"D'you think he'd lost a lot of money? I mean, suicide is pretty common among City boys," John suggested to Sherlock and me with crossed arms.

I was beside him with my own hands in the pockets and Sherlock (who was currently without his coat, normal black gloves, and scarf) on the other as he pulled on white gloves. Police officers were all around the flat. A photographer was taking pictures of Van Coon on the bed and a forensics officer was dusting for fingerprints on the nearby mirror. If I kept quiet enough, I could hear distant voices of the officers moving about.

"We don't know that it was suicide," Sherlock said.

"Come on," John said, turning his head as Sherlock kneeled beside a suitcase. I came over beside him and leaned against the wall. Sherlock opened the lid of the suitcase, revealing the content inside. "The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony."

I glanced over at him. "But why would he want to commit suicide, though? If that message was definitely for him then wouldn't someone be after him?"

"Less he decided to kill himself before he could get killed," John answered.

I bit my lip. "That just doesn't sound right, John."

"Been away three days, judging by the laundry," Sherlock cut in. He was staring into the laundry that took up all of the suitcase. I took a step closer as his hand came and went to the indent that was deep in the centre of it all. I moved back, though, when Sherlock straightened up until he was standing at his full height and looked back and forth between John and me. "Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it."

"Thanks – I'll take your word for it," John told him, giving the detective and the suitcase the briefest of glances. I snorted, coming over next to the doctor and bumping his hip with mine.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked a bit confused.

"Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear," John told him as he bumped me back.

"Blu?" Sherlock asked then, looking at me.

I shook my head, ignoring the baffled look that came into his eyes. "I'm good, thanks. The day I touch another's undergarments is the day I'm happily married. Until then…"

Sherlock frowned a little. I gave a small smile and rolled my eyes as he walked past and moved so he was at the foot of the bed. "Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti. Why were they put there?"

"What, some sort of code?" John asked.

"Obviously," Sherlock said as he started to inspect the dead man from top to bottom. "Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"

"Well, maybe he wasn't answering," John said.

"Oh good. You follow."

"Nope."

I resisted the urge to laugh at the look Sherlock gave the doctor. I don't think I did well in trying, though, because a look got thrown my way next.

"What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?" Sherlock asked, just making John more confused. "What about this morning – those letters you were looking at?"

This time I gave Sherlock the confused look as John said, "Bills."

"It has to have been a death threat, right?" I said, gaining John's attention. Sherlock was too focused on prying open Van Coon's mouth. "Why else put it in the bank for specifically one person to see? And there's the fact that the one line of graffiti had covered the man's eyes in that portrait. Perhaps being hinted at the idea of 'see no evil'?"

Okay. That sounded a bit better in my head. I seriously do think, though, that the man didn't commit suicide and the markings were a death threat.

"'See no evil'?" John asked.

"You know…" I trailed off as I placed my hands over my eyes. When I pulled them back, John still didn't look like he had understood what I was trying to say. "Really? See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil? Haven't you heard of it?"

He blinked after a few seconds of just staring in thought at me. "Oh," he said in realization. "That. I got ya."

I sighed and lightly patted his shoulder. "Oh, John…"

There was then a soft hissing sound and John and I glanced over at Sherlock. I grimaced as I saw that Van Coon's mouth was opened all the way now and the detective now held something black and slimy. I placed a hand over my mouth at the thought of what Sherlock had just done in order to get the item out. I wish I knew what the black thing was, though. I couldn't identity from where I stood and I was definitely not getting any closer to find out.

"Yes," Sherlock agreed. I blinked in surprise. "He was being threatened." Sherlock gave John a brief glance before his eyes fell onto me. "I think you could learn something from Bluebell, John."

I blushed somewhat at the compliment and averted my eyes with a smile.

As Sherlock rose up to his full height to put the item in an evidence bag, John leaned in close to look at the item. "Not by the gas board."

"...and see if you can get prints off this glass," a man's voice said.

The three of us looked back as one of the police officers walked right into the room. It wasn't Lestrade, which made me frown, but someone much younger. Perhaps my age?

Sherlock turned and walked towards the newcomer. "Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met." Sherlock pulled off one of his white gloves in order to shake the sergeant's.

The man didn't shake it, though. Instead he chose to push back his jacket by placing his hands on his hips. "Yeah, I know who you are; and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."

I bit my lip from saying something I'd regret. Sherlock's hand lowered instantly and he brought up the evidence bag for the man to take. He did so rudely and the two kind of just stared at the other. John and I gave glances at each other at the exchange that was going on between Sherlock and this officer.

"Bluebell's phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?" Sherlock asked.

The sergeant's eyes came over and looked me over real quick, since he probably guessed I was the Bluebell who Sherlock was talking about, before returning his attention to the detective. "He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock."

"Detective Inspector?" I mouthed at John, my nose scrunching up at the thought of this young man being one. The doctor shrugged in response, looking just as lost as I did. As Dimmock walked out of the room, Sherlock looked back at us with the same expression that John and I wore on our faces.

After a few seconds the three of us mentally shook off the thoughts and followed Dimmock out and into the living room.

"We're obviously looking at a suicide," Dimmock said, handing over the bag of evidence to a officer near the couch.

"That does seem the only explanation of all the facts," John stated.

I gave him a look. "Really, John?"

Sherlock took off his other glove and gave the doctor an annoyed look. "Wrong. It's one possible explanation of some of the facts." He then looked over at Dimmock. "You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it." I snickered as John averted his eyes awkwardly.

"Like?" the D.I. asked.

"The wound was on the right side of his head."

"And?"

"Van Coon was left-handed." Though Sherlock as only trying to prove his point, I laughed as he brought up his left hand and tried to demonstrate what it would have been like for Van Coon to shoot himself in the right temple. He first went under his chin and then over his head, neither solution quite looking possible. "Requires quite a bit of contortion."

"Left-handed?"

"Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice," Sherlock said sarcastically. "All you have to do is look around this flat." He pointed over at the table beside the sofa near us. "Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left." His hand moved slightly to the sockets on the wall. "Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left." His index finger moved again.  
"Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. D'you want me to go on?

"No, I think you've covered it," John said with a tired expression. The D.I. was starting to look irritated on the other hand. I gave a half-hearted shrug.

"Oh, I might as well; I'm almost at the bottom of the list," Sherlock said. John just gave a nod as he looked at me with a sigh.

"What ya gonna do?" I asked quietly. "Once he starts, he'll just keep going until he finishes up."

Sherlock pointed over towards the kitchen. "There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left." He looked back at the D.I. as he gave a quick swift with his hand to indicate the blade and butter. "It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. "Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of all the facts."

"But the gun: why…?" Dimmock asked, sounding confused and yet still adamant on the fact that Van Coon had killed himself.

Sherlock interrupted him before the D.I. had the chance to finish his full sentence. "He was waiting for the killer. He'd been threatened."

"Told ya," I said, poking John in the shoulder. I gave him a wide grin while he just rolled his eyes.

Sherlock walked off to pull on his coat, gloves, and scarf. Dimmock stared after him. "What?"

"Today at the bank. Sort of a warning," John explained.

"Death threat," I added on. "Big, bold, and very noticeable, especially for Van Coon. It was a threat, he saw it and tried to hide, but obviously was unsuccessful as you can tell from exhibit A."

"Exhibit A?" Dimmock asked.

I rolled my eyes and gestured back at the bedroom. "A deceased Van Coon, also known as Exhibit A. Need I really explain, Detective Inspector?"

I smirked when the man frowned at me a bit. His eyes narrowed just the slightest.

"He fired a shot when his attacker came in," Sherlock told the man, back to Van Coon and his threat, directing his attention over to him.

"And the bullet?" Dimmock asked.

"Went through the open window."

"Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?!"

"Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?"

I looked over at Sherlock, this time lost like everybody else. That was one answer I definitely did not have and I kind of had hoped that Sherlock did.

The smallest of smirks appeared on Sherlock's face as he pulled his remaining glove onto his hand. "Good! You're finally asking the right questions."

With that, Sherlock turned on his heel and walked swiftly out of the flat. John looked over at Dimmock and then pointed apologetically towards Sherlock before quickly darting after the dark haired detective. I slowly shook my head and trailed after them both.

* * *

The three of us soon ended up inside of a restaurant. We had learned that Sebastian was here in a meeting from his secretary and so Sherlock had instantly forced us into another cab and had us come here to find the man. Sherlock led the way through the restaurant, upsetting a few people for the fact that we had just come in without waiting to be sat, with John and I following him.

I felt awkward and had crossed my arms over my chest as I followed. It had gotten even colder outside and so John had immediately forced his coat onto me when he saw me give a shiver. I tried to object, but the doctor would not accept no for an answer. I tried to take it right back off, but John told me that he wouldn't put it back on even if I did. Reluctantly I kept it on in order to appease him.

"...and he's left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can never be done!" we heard Sebastian exclaim loudly to his friends.

We walked right on over to the group of sitting men without an invite. Sherlock cut into the conversation by stating, "It was a threat. That's what the graffiti meant."

All of the men looked up at him slightly lost. Sebastian appeared just a bit peeved, but he tried to play it off with a forced smile. "I'm kind of in a meeting. Can you make an appointment with my secretary?"

"I don't think this can wait. Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders – someone who worked in your office – was killed," Sherlock told him.

"What?" Sebastian asked a little surprise. The others at the table glanced at each other with small frowns.

I rolled my eyes and pushed by John to stand in front of the doctor and beside Sherlock. I crossed my arms. "We found Edward Van Coon dead in his flat. The police are there right now as we speak investigating. Now…are you still sure this can wait?"

"Killed?" Sebastian asked in shock. He blinked at me with somewhat wide eyes.

Sherlock looked at each one of the men at the table, his eyes lingering the most on Sebastian. "Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion," he said sarcastically. "Still wanna make an appointment? Would, maybe, nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?"

Sebastian put his glass of water down and nervously ran his finger inside his shirt collar. I smirked and pressed my face against Sherlock's arm to stop myself from wanting to laugh.

Well, a few minutes later the five of us ended up in the men's toilet. I tried to stay outside (it was the men's toilet, after all) but Sherlock had grabbed my (John's) coat sleeve and dragged me in. I awkwardly stood next to Sherlock with my hands inside of my (John's) coat pockets. Sebastian was washing his hands and John stood beside him with crossed arms as he stared at the floor, though I caught him glancing over at me with red cheeks every so often. I tried not to catch his eye.

"Harrow; Oxford. Very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while, so…" Sebastian started.

" ...you gave him the Hong Kong accounts," John finished.

Sebastian dried his hands off using one of the towels. "Lost five mill in a single morning; made it all back a week later. Nerves of steel, Eddie had."

"Who would want to kill him?" I asked, gazing at Sebastian using the mirror.

He met my gaze as he fixed himself up a little to appear presentable. "We all make enemies."

"You don't all end up with a bullet through your temple," John pointed out.

I flinched as a memory flashed through my head of a gun being pressed against my own temple. Just as I heard the explosion of the gun going off, Sebastian's phone beeped, alerting him to a new text. I jumped at the sound, causing John to glance at me. I quickly looked over back at the mirror, but found Sherlock staring at me with it. I bit my lip.

"Not usually," Sebastian replied. 'Scuse me." The man pulled out his phone from his inner jacket pocket and looked down at the message he had received. He slowly pulled his attention back to the man beside me. "It's my Chairman. The police have been on to him. Apparently they're telling him it was a suicide."

"Those stubborn bloody fools," I growled under my breath with a shake of my head.

"Well, they've got it wrong, Sebastian," Sherlock told him. "He was murdered."

"Well, I'm afraid they don't see it like that," Sebastian replied.

"Seb," Sherlock tried.

"...and neither does my boss," Sebastian finished. He frowned at Sherlock as if he was an idiot. I glared at the banker."I hired you to do a job. Don't get side-tracked."

I snarled under my breath as Sebastian walked out of the room. "Why can't people just use their brains and listen?"

"I thought bankers were all supposed to be heartless bastards," John said, staring over at Sherlock and me.

My frown disappeared and I cracked a smile, chuckling under my breath. "Come on, you two," I told them with a shake of my head. I lightly grasped Sherlock's arm as he continued to stare at the mirror with an annoyed expression. "Best to get out of here before some guy enters."

"Yes," John said with a somewhat serious expression. "That would be so horrible."

I gave John a look. "Haha, John. Funny. "

* * *

The following day John had gone out, saying something about actually getting a job. I had happily waved him off with a smile as I laid on the couch with my orange blanket over my head while I listened to the radio next to me on the table. Once John was gone, I lifted the blanket up a little and peered over at Sherlock. The detective was sitting hunched in one of the dining table chairs with his hands in their usual prayer position under his chin. His laptop was open behind him. He was staring ahead at the wall where there were now printed photographs of the graffiti from the day before that Sherlock had taken at the bank. I don't think Sherlock even noticed that John had left, though, because he kept said something about a pen.

I thought about just getting up and giving Sherlock the pen myself…but I admit that I felt much too lazy to do so. So I continued to instead just lay on the couch, listening to the radio beside me. I pulled the blanket back over my head and closed my eyes.

Sometime later John finally came back. He walked right on in and dropped his jacket on his chair. I waved at him in greeting and turned down my radio. With a yawn, I sat up and stretched my arms over my head. My blanket shifted a bit and hung over my head like a cloak. I sleepily peered over at my two flatmates as I rose to my feet and shuffled over, hugging my blanket close.

"I said, "Could you pass me a pen?"" Sherlock said to John without taking his eyes off of the wall and its pictures.

John looked over at me as I came over, thinking the detective meant me. I shook my head and pointed at the doctor himself. John blinked in surprise and pointed at himself. I nodded and held back a smile.

"What? When?" John asked Sherlock.

"'Bout an hour ago," the detective replied.

John gave a sigh. "Didn't notice I'd gone out, then."

I shook my head again. "Nope."

"And you couldn't do it, Blu?" he asked as he picked up a pen and tossed it at Sherlock. The dark haired man caught it without even looking.

"And get up?" I asked in a serious voice. "No way. Besides, he wanted you. Not me. Probably wouldn't have even registered me if I did hand him one."

John shook his head in exasperation as he walked over to the wall and its mirror where all the photos had been taped to. He peered at them as I moved up beside him and studied them along with him. Couldn't really see some of them, though, since my glasses were on the table by the radio.

"Yeah, I went to see about a job at that surgery," John told us.

"Good on you, John!" I smiled at the man, locking my arm through his. I squeezed tightly and earned a grin out of the doctor.

"How was it?" Sherlock asked.

John didn't quite pay attention to his words was he answered, "It's great. She's great."

I gave John a wide smile as Sherlock and I said in unison, "Who?"

John gave me an odd look before he then looked over at Sherlock. His blue orbs flickered between him and me. "The job."

"'She?'" Sherlock asked, looking over at John with the smallest of smiles.

John's eyes grew just a little bit wide. He quickly corrected himself. "…It."

Sherlock and I exchanged looks. "Uh huh," I said to John.

Sherlock pulled his eyes away first and returned to staring at the mirror and pictures. He gestured just the slightest at his laptop. "Here, have a look."

"Hmm?" John asked, moving over to the table behind Sherlock to look at his open laptop.

I frowned and placed my hands on my hips. "See? This is why I hate it when you go off into lala land, Sherlock. I've been here the entire time and I'm just now learning about this."

I gave a sigh when he ignored me to go back to staring at the mirror. With a shake of my head, I spun back around and pretended to study the pictures again. Really, though, I was glaring at Sherlock. He caught my eye and an eyebrow slowly rose up his forehead. I huffed and folded my arms over my chest.

"What's he even looking at anyway?" I asked John.

"'Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police'" John read aloud. I stared at the doctor using the mirror as he silently read the page. At last he said, "The intruder who can walk through walls."

"Happened last night," Sherlock told us. His hands were now clasped together. "Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon."

John straightened up and looked back at us. "God. You think…?"

"He's killed another one," Sherlock instantly answered.

I sighed and spun on my heel to face the two men. "The police _so_ better believe us this time…"

* * *

"Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat…" Sherlock told D.I. Dimmock. He was reading a bit from the article that he had been looking at earlier. Dimmock watched him with folded arms. Sherlock turned the laptop after a moment and forced the D.I. to look at the article. "…doors locked from the inside.

"You've gotta admit it's similar," John told Dimmock with folded arms as well. The man scowled at the screen in response but he did look at it. "Both men killed by someone who can…" John paused for a split second, searching for the right way to phrase his thoughts. "...walk through solid walls."

"Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?" Sherlock asked. Dimmock glanced away in order to not meet the detective's eyes. I shook my head at the D.I. while Sherlock looked up in exasperation and sighed. "You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?"

Dimmock nodded. "Mmm."

"And the shot that killed him: was it fired from his own gun?" Sherlock continued.

"No," Dimmock said, but it was easy to tell that it was hard for him to admit that he had been wrong and Sherlock right.

"No. So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel," Sherlock angrily told the man.

As Dimmock stared at Sherlock, I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Gospel. Not the exact word I would put together with Sherlock Holmes…"

Sherlock gave me a quick irritated frown before leaning forward over the desk. His voice grew dangerously quiet as he put his face close to Dimmock's. "I've just handed you a murder enquiry." Sherlock's voice then grew loud again, but still held a strict and dangerous tone to it as he nodded at the computer. "Five minutes in his flat."

* * *

Though Dimmock didn't like it, he agreed and allowed us into the victim's flat. Sherlock led the way into the flat and up the steps. He ducked just slightly under the police tape and I followed right behind him with John and Dimmock hot on my tail. We entered the flat and I instantly saw Sherlock looking around at everything that was in the living room. There was an open empty suitcase on the floor and nearby on the carpet was what appeared to be a black origami flower. It looked oddly similar to the one that Sherlock had pulled out from Van Coon's mouth yesterday. There were books everywhere on the desk and on bookshelves and scattered about on the floor. Several open newspapers were lying on the floor. After gazing at everything in the living room, Sherlock walked over to the kitchen area and looked through the window at the nearby rooftops of lower buildings. I came up beside him as he pushed some of the curtain to the side and smirked.

"Four floors up. That's why they think they're safe," Sherlock breathed, glancing down at me. "Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they're impregnable." I blinked at him as he walked off back to the middle of the room. I took slow steps over to the window and glanced as much as I could out of it. I shuddered seeing how high we were. "They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in."

"I don't understand," Dimmock said.

"Blu," John called.

I snapped out of my trance and turned my neck to see that Sherlock and Dimmock were already out of the living room. John was giving me an odd look. I gave him a small smile back in response and followed the sound of Sherlock's voice.

"You're dealing with a killer who can climb."

Out in the landing by the stairs we used to climb up to the flat, Sherlock was hopped up on something in order to reach the window up near the ceiling. John and I stood next to each other, still in the living room, as we watched. The D.I. had come out to the landing and stood behind the detective.

"What are you doing?" Dimmock asked the detective.

"He clings to the walls like an insect," Sherlock answered. He unhooked the latch and pushed the window upwards. "That's how he got in," he said softly.

"What?!" Dimmock asked confused.

"Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight," Sherlock explained.

"You're not serious!" Dimmock asked in disbelief. "Like Spider-Man?"

"He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon," Sherlock said.

Dimmock laughed in disbelief. "Oh, ho-hold on!"

"And of course that's how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace." He stepped down onto the landing and looked around again. "We have to find out what connects these two men."

Sherlock's eyes fell on the pile of books scattered up the side of the staircase. He jumped down a few stairs and picked up one particular book which had fallen open at its front page. After a moment of examining the book, he slammed the book shut and took it with him down the steps. John and I sighed in sync and pushed past the D.I. in order to follow Sherlock.

* * *

After our taxi ride (John paid this time) we ended up heading inside of West Kensington Library. The three of us took the escalators, jogging up them instead of riding them like normal people, and Sherlock instantly led the way once we reached the top. He took us straight to the aisle that we were looking for that apparently had also been the aisle that Lukis had gotten his book from that Sherlock held with him.

"Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died," Sherlock told us.

Sherlock checked the reference number that was stuck to the bottom of the book's spine and immediately went to the area that the book had come from. John and I glanced at all of the other books. The doctor then reached out a hand and pulled out a couple of books in order to be helpful. We both froze at the sight behind the books he pulled.

"Sherlock," we said together in unison.

Sherlock turned to look over at us. I gave him a glance, meeting his eyes, and then looked back over at the visible yellow paint behind some of the books. The detective stepped up beside me and reached for a good portion of the books that still covered the marks. He put the books into his other hand and reached once more with his left to grab the remaining books. Once all the books were gone, it was easy to see the graffiti markings on the back of the shelf. The same markings that had been used together on the office wall next to the portrait.

Without a word said, Sherlock thrust all the books he held into my hands in order for him to pull out his phone. I wobbled a moment and John quickly placed his hands on my shoulders to steady me. As Sherlock held his phone up and took the pictures, I smiled in thanks at John over my shoulder. Instantly when the detective was finished, and had put his phone away, I stayed still as John started to put the books back on the shelf, with Sherlock's help after a moment when he realized it would be faster for him to help so we could then follow after him.

* * *

Later the three of us were back at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock had his newest photos of the marks from the book shelf up on the mirror with the other pictures. He (no coat, gloves, or scarf) and John stood side-by-side as they stared at the photos. I was curled up in the black chair (that I believe Sherlock secretly deemed as his and John the other) and watched the two of them with a bored expression. My elbow was on the armrest and my head lazily rested against my palm. I covered my mouth as a yawn threatened to escape my lips.

"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in. Hours later, he dies," Sherlock said.

John continues on. "The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen; Lukis goes home."

"Late that night, he dies too."

"Why did they die, Sherlock?" John softly asked.

Sherlock ran his fingers over the line painted across the portrait's face. "Only the cipher can tell us." His finger slowly slid down the picture until he glanced up and thoughtfully tapped it.

"Idea?" I asked hopefully.

* * *

Sherlock and John walked next to one another as I was just on the heels of their feet as we walked through the centre of Trafalgar Square. I had my hands in my coat pockets and kept my eyes trained on Sherlock and John's feet as we walked. I suddenly just felt so tired. I really wanted to go back to bed.

"The world's run on codes and ciphers, Blu, John. From the million-pound security system at the bank, to the PIN machine you took exception to," Sherlock eyed John at that comment, "cryptography inhabits our every waking moment."

"Yes, okay, but…" John started.

"...but it's all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It's an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it," Sherlock explained.

"Where are we headed?" John asked.

I stumbled and almost fell when we got to some steps. I hadn't even noticed them…

"I need to ask some advice," Sherlock admitted.

John gave a mocking smile. "What?! Sorry?!"

Sherlock gave him a dark look whilst I snickered, thus getting the dark look for myself as well. "Where's a camera when you need one?"

"You both heard me perfectly. I'm not saying it again," Sherlock told us.

"That's what you think," I said, speeding up my pace in order to get ahead of him and John. I turned around so I was facing them and walking backwards. I wiggled my eyebrows at the detective. He frowned back, his eyes narrowing somewhat.

"You need advice?" John asked.

"On painting, yes," Sherlock said. "I need to talk to an expert."

Instead of going into the National Gallery, though, like John and I thought he was taking us, he instead brought us right around to the rear of the building where a young man was grafting the wall. I frowned the closer we got at this man's 'artwork'. The image he had created was a policeman holding a rifle in his hands. The image had a pig's snout in place of a human nose. At the man's feet was a large canvas bag. In both hands he had spray cans and he currently was using one to finish his 'work' of spraying his tag "RAZ" below the image and other little things.

"Part of a new exhibition," Raz told us.

"Interesting," Sherlock said in an uninterested voice.

Raz chuckled. "I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy."

"Catchy," John said sarcastically.

"I call it Destruction of Private Property," I muttered. When the man gave me an annoyed look, I innocently added on, "But that's just my opinion," and feigned a wide smile.

Raz went back to spraying. "I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner." He looked back at Sherlock. "Can we do this while I'm workin'?"

I rolled my eyes.

Sherlock instantly brought his phone up for the man. Raz blinked down at it and casually tossed one of his spray cans over at me. Like a hot potato, I quickly tossed it into John's hands. The doctor barely caught it, not thinking that I was going to quickly just give it to him like I had done. He blinked down at me, but then looked over at Raz and Sherlock in bewilderment. Raz used his thumb to scroll through the pictures Sherlock had on his phone.

"Know the author?" the detective asked.

"Recognize the paint," Raz told us. "It's like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc."

"What about the symbols: d'you recognize them?" Sherlock asked.

Raz squinted a bit at the symbols on the phone. "Not even sure it's a proper language."

I frowned. "It has to be a language. If it wasn't, then neither man would have known to try and at least sort of protect themselves."

Raz gave me a confused look and Sherlock somewhat elaborated. He leaned in a bit towards the man and lowered his voice. "Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them."

"What, and this is all you've got to go on? It's hardly much, now, is it?" Raz pointed out.

Sherlock started to look a bit irritated. "Are you gonna help us or not?"

"I'll ask around," Raz promised.

"Somebody must know something about it," Sherlock stated.

"Oi!" a voice shouted at us.

The four of us looked around to see two Community Support Officers hurrying towards us. Before I even had time to register what the heck was going on, I felt a hand grip my wrist and pull me off. I blinked in surprise and looked back at John who had gotten left behind (with Raz leaving the blame on the poor doctor as he ran as well) and then at Sherlock who now had his phone in one hand and was tugging me along with the other. When I glanced back at John, the two of us locked eyes and I mouthed "Sorry" at him just before Sherlock pulled us around the corner and out of sight of the officers who had gathered next to the doctor.

* * *

**So, currently six in the morning. Tired. Dead tired, but I finished. **

**Not my best chapter unfortunately. Too many breaks from the characters traveling back and forth between many locations. They make the chapter feel short and sloppy (and also makes Blu feel just like more of an insert than a real character that you can picture in the show). **

**Going to make this short and sweet since I'm so flipping tired. Please make my day (whenever I wake up) with lovely comments and other goodies please and thank-a you! I'll love you all forever! **


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